


all this reckless ache (is yours to claim)

by notwithhaste



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Harvey POV, Masturbation, canon divergence season 8, harvey thinks about donna a lot, in that way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23650279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notwithhaste/pseuds/notwithhaste
Summary: First time Harvey gets himself off thinking about Donna, it's unexpected but not unwelcome.
Relationships: Donna Paulsen/Harvey Specter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. there's trouble where i'm going but i'm gonna go there anyway

**Author's Note:**

> If this is familiar, you might have read it over on ff net. Just reposting my fics here for tidiness and posterity.
> 
> If you haven’t read it, I hope you enjoy. :)

I. _there's trouble where i'm going but i'm gonna go there anyway_

.

First time Harvey gets himself off thinking about Donna, it's unexpected but not unwelcome.

Unexpected, not because he hadn't thought about fucking her. No, it's definitely not that. He thinks about it pretty damn often, to be honest, in an idle kind of way that would have her rolling her eyes in mock disgust. She'll bring him papers to sign and he'll catch a glimpse of her cleavage and he thinks how glorious her breasts would look splayed under him. He'll look up from his screen just in time to catch the backs of her knees on their way out of his office, and seven different ways he could bend her legs flash in his mind in rapid succession. It's a brief interruption to his day and it's back to the depositions even before she's back at her desk. She's attractive. He notices. A lot.

It's unexpected because he normally doesn't think about anyone in particular when jerking off. It's usually just a series of anonymous tits and asses and pussies – much like when having sex, he doesn't need a context to get off.

It's been a long uncomfortable day. Dennis was in a shitty mood for most of it and was all too happy to take it out on him. In the end, Harvey got to the witness and his current case was back on track, but it left him too exhausted to socialize and too keyed up to sleep.

He needs a drink.

He is just pouring himself one when Donna pokes her head through the door on her way out, "I'm gonna go. I'll see you tomorrow, okay."

"Mhmm," he grunts noncommittally, then looks up. She's changed. It's red and it's revealing. He raises his eyebrows, unable to help a grin spreading, "Hot date?"

"Date," she shrugs, stepping in. "We'll see about the other thing. He seems promising and I'm known for enabling people to reach their potential."

Harvey lets out a short laugh, "I bet you are," he winks at her. "I was gonna ask you to join me, but," he trails off, waving the glass in her general direction. It's a lie. It didn't even cross his mind, not tonight, but now that she had other plans… The thought irks him.

"No lady friends waiting on your bed tonight wearing nothing but a smile?"

"Flying solo tonight." He finishes his drink.

"Just be careful not to pull any muscles, lover boy. There are loads of documents you need to sign tomorrow, wouldn't want any injuries to your writing hand." The wink she tosses him over her shoulder as she exits his office is exaggerated and ridiculous and meaningless. He opens and closes his right fist in response as if to stretch it, she chuckles and is gone.

He's still thinking about it an hour later, on his sofa, his tie undone, as he finishes his fourth glass of scotch. The buzz is real now and it's making him mellow, reckless. He picks up the phone but just as quickly puts it down when he realizes he doesn't really feel like hooking up tonight.

He wonders how Donna's date is going. Should be seated by now, waiting for their meal with a second glass of wine. Maybe she's excusing herself to go to the bathroom. Harvey feels his dick catching up with his brain as he imagines her hips sashaying away from the table, her legs going on for miles in that just-short-enough dress. His hand twitches on his thigh. She's winking at him smugly again; his hand moves to his crotch.

Her date is probably staying put, refilling their glasses and hoping to get lucky tonight. Harvey doesn't hope. He'd follow her to the bathroom, catch her wrist, move his body closer but just short of touching. She'd catch on right away – she's Donna, after all – and she'd smirk. He'd smirk back, before closing the distance between them, walking her back until she's up against a wall, kissing her just under her ear. Not her lips, that would be an obvious move, and Harvey Specter is not a predictable fuck. He can smell her; his head falls back on the couch and his fist is now tight around his cock. He can hear her; low and throaty as his fantasy self drags his open mouth down her neck, his right hand under her ass, his left on the wall next to her face, so close he can feel her breath on his fingers as it hitches.

He'd return his lips to her ear, "Am I living up to my potential?"

"I don't know, are you," she'd reply coyly, giving him a light squeeze. "Mmmmmm. Why yes, yes you are."

He groans as he gives himself a long stroke, imagining her palm rubbing him through his pants, nothing hesitant about it, just like he's sure she wouldn't be. He can picture her face, all confidence and control, sure his own is just the same – equal, always equal, never missing a beat, never intimidated by his position or disarmed by his charm – and he's not much for locking eyes, but he'd want to look at her look at him as his fingers move from her ass to her panties, running up and down the material in time with his thrusts against her hand.

Her gaze would lower to his lips. His wouldn't. She'd roll her eyes. "Oh, just get over yourself and kiss me."

A strangled laugh escapes him and it sounds too loud in his empty apartment. He's jerking off in earnest now, right hand pumping his cock, the left next to his balls, and in his mind's eye he's kissing her greedily, her lips soft and responsive as they open to let his tongue in, securing her back against the wall and then up as he grabs the back of her thighs, her legs endless around him.

His pants around his ankles and the tip of his cock rubbing against her panties, he'd stop just long enough to point out, "You're so fucking wet."

"You're so fucking hard." Not a beat.

His eyes narrow and his grin widens as he slides her lacy underwear to the side, "It's not a competition, Donna."

"Isn't it?"

And maybe it is. Maybe he needs her to relent. Maybe he's an asshole, but he really fucking wanted her to choose a whimsical drink with him over her date, and yeah. He's definitely an asshole. It's not exactly a revelation, though, and it certainly doesn't affect his mood as he spits in his palm and thrusts into the wetness, imagining how her pussy would feel around him, so goddamn tight. And his thoughts go hazy and out of order, his hands and mouth everywhere all at once, cupping her over her bra, sucking her nipple through the lacy material as he angles his hips just so, and he's making her moan again and again, hitting that spot, rubbing her clit, until she's falling apart around his cock, fisting his hair, crying his name.

His own orgasm is so intense he thinks he might go blind. There's come all over his shirt and his cock doesn't go soft for long enough he thinks he might have broken it. "Shit," he exhales, rubbing his hand over his face, his head resting on the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell that was all about. "Shit."

.

The next morning, she greets him with a cup of coffee and a stack of documents. "You have a 10 AM with Mrs Crowley, court has been rescheduled for tomorrow and Dennis is in a much better mood today," she gives him a quick thumb up.

"Well, good morning to you, too," he says as he takes the coffee and she follows him into his office. He thinks he should feel embarrassed or awkward, but it never comes. He considers that a good sign. Nothing's changed. He wonders if she got laid last night.

Donna runs down the day for him; he listens to most of it as he thumbs the papers she's given him. She leans into him and he pays attention. "Oh, and by the way. Jenna from payroll? Pregnant."

"What? I thought she liked women."

"So did her girlfriend," she widens her eyes in mock outrage.

He shakes his head in amusement. "Well, that should be interesting."

She's on her way out when he asks casually, "Hey, how was your date?"

"Eh," she waves it off, "Not worth that dress, that's for sure."

"That's a shame," he comments and doesn't even try to sound sincere. "Guess you would've been better off staying for that drink," he adds suggestively, his eyebrows waggling.

His bluntness makes her laugh. "You're shameless."

He thinks about her pinned against the wall, dress hitched, with him deep inside her. He smiles. "Oh, you have no idea."

.

Their flirting only gets more obvious after that. A few months later Cameron Dennis turns out to be a bigger asshole than Harvey realized, they find themselves unemployed and he gets to fuck her for real. It's just as hot as he imagined, except it's also fun and effortless and, shit. He hasn't felt so goddamn happy in a good long while, and he has exactly no idea what to do with that. What he does know is that he can get sex anywhere, but he can only get feeling like that from Donna. And if past has taught him anything it's that getting romantic is a sure-fire way of losing someone. Keeping her with him is non-negotiable, and he tells Jessica as much. It all sounds so simple; he's pleased with himself for figuring it out.

He gets off to porn a lot after that.


	2. maybe if i lay real still, it will go away (maybe it will)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the flashback in 4.13 (Fork in the Road), when Harvey lost junior partner to Louis.

_II. maybe if i lay real still it will go away (maybe it will)_

_._

He doesn't make partner.

It sucks, really sucks, but what sucks more is that Louis beat him to it. Louis goddamn Litt, a conniving little worm who'd betray his own mother to get ahead because he can't crack it any other way. Loath as he is to admit it, it throws Harvey off his game, for a little while at least. He drops the ball in a deposition. He forgets about filing some paperwork. He's short-tempered and on edge.

Luckily, Donna is there to pick up the slack, and she's flawless, as usual. Still. Despite her best efforts at managing his workload and his mood – the Michael Jordan thing was pretty damn cool - it's still been a shitty week.

And he has a date.

She's someone he met a few weeks ago, on a random Thursday night out with a few of the other associates. She seemed fine. They had amazing sex, which is the main reason he decides to go for it. It's a Saturday night and he'd rather not spend it thinking about Louis. The thought makes him shiver.

He arrived almost an hour early and has since been sitting at the bar, nursing a scotch. He feels like he needs a few drinks in him first to get in the mood. He's usually all about this part. The chase. He loves the foreplay, loves making them feel desired, making them fall just a little bit in love with him. Not tonight. He just wants to get screwed, the good way.

He's about to order another, when someone beats him to it. "I'll have whatever he's having," she tells the bartender. "Seems to be really working wonders for his mood."

"Donna."

"Harvey," she responds. "Drowning your sorrows?"

"Something like that," he looks at her sideways as he takes a sip.

"You know, drinking alone is symptomatic."

"Of?"

"Grumpy misanthropic lawyers."

"Good." Harvey throws a quick glance at the door and doesn't stop to ponder why he isn't telling Donna he's in fact waiting for someone. She probably already knows, anyway. "What about you? Have you been watching me? Cause that's creepy."

"Yes, Harvey. Haven't you noticed my trench coat and a fake moustache?" She waves her arms down her body, making a point.

He looks her over now. She's wearing a long black dress, bare shoulders, a slit down the side. It's a good look on her; Donna has nice shoulders. She looks elegant, like she's going somewhere after, somewhere fancy.

She answers without him asking. "Just getting drinks with some friends, then we're off to see a play."

"Sounds nice."

"It is! You should join us sometime," she challenges with fake enthusiasm, knowing there's no way in hell he'll ever be sitting through hours of Shakespeare or whatever other high-brow snoozefest they're seeing.

"I'll catch it on DVD."

She's shaking her head, "You brute."

He shoots her a lopsided grin.

"Hey." She turns somber all of a sudden and he catches her long fingers reach for his arm before she thinks better of it, disguising the motion by drumming her nails on the bar. "You'll get them next time."

Harvey gives a short nod. "We sure will."

That earns him a shy smile. A Donna smile. He looks away. She changes the subject. "So? What's her name?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, please." She gives him a short once-over, motioning with her head, "That sweater? That's your date sweater."

"I have a date sweater?"

"You sure do. Goes really well with your fuck me pants."

Harvey almost spits out his drink. Donna laughs.

"So? What's her name?"

"Donna," he warns, feeling put upon.

"Harvey," she shoots right back. "You do know her name, right?" she checks.

Harvey sighs, "It's Brandi," he raises his eyebrows, challenging her to make a smartass remark.

"Brandi," she repeats, biting her lower lip. His eyes narrow. "I didn't say anything."

"Good." He feels a full-fledged smile threatening to emerge and he purses his lips in an attempt to stifle it before she notices. He fails. "She's actually a veterinarian." He's not entirely sure why that's relevant or why he's trying to impress Donna with his choice of women; then again, gaining her approval is kinda his thing.

"Well, then," she slaps her hand down on the bar, "That's me sold!" She's wearing her supportive maybe-this-time-he'll-commit expression, and any other time he'd be annoyed – he doesn't like feeling like her project – but tonight he appreciates the sentiment.

"Thanks, Donna." He means it and she can tell.

"Hello, Harvey. Sorry I'm late." Brandi's there and she's touching his shoulder and kissing his cheek and putting herself between him and Donna. "Hi, there. I'm Brandi."

"So I hear. I'm Donna." They shake hands and it's all very polite and very Fatal Attraction at the same time. Before Harvey has the chance to butt in, Donna is picking up her drink off the bar, "I'll leave you guys to your evening."

"I'll see you on Monday."

Brandi is facing him so she doesn't see the claw gesture Donna makes as she mouths what looks like a meow at him. His lips are a thin line as he tries hard not to laugh. "Shall we?"

.

"So what's the deal with you and Donna?"

They've relocated to the restaurant area and are waiting for their food to arrive when Brandi brings it up.

"Donna?" he looks at her like she's grown a second head. "No deal. She's my secretary."

He wasn't in the mood to begin with, and this conversation, he decides, won't help. He knows because he's had this conversation before. He would bet his entire record collection Donna's had it, too.

"You wouldn't be the first boss sleeping with his secretary."

"Be that as it may." He cocks his head, "Trust me, if you knew Donna, you'd know that's out of the question." He picks up his glass, taking a sip.

"And you?" she raises a perfect eyebrow.

"And me what?"

"If I knew you," she starts. "Would I know the same thing?"

"If you knew me, Brandi," it comes out harsher than he intends it to, "you'd know these sort of conversations are a real turn-off for me."

"You wanna know what I think?" He doesn't, not particularly, but keeps quiet. "I think I hit a nerve," she sits back smiling, smug.

Maybe she's not an easy lay Harvey had her pegged as. He purses his lips, nods at nothing in particular. "Well, this was," he trails off, moving to get up.

"Harvey," she says evenly. "I really didn't mean to make this uncomfortable. But we're busy people and I just don't feel like wasting both our time. I don't know what the deal is with you guys and I don't really care," she shrugs. He believes her. "I just know that when I got here, you were enjoying yourself, and then you weren't. And quite frankly, that's a huge turn off for _me_. I prefer being the main event at my own date."

"Actually, I was having a really shitty night before you came."

"Thing is, Harvey," she looks at him pointedly. "I never would have guessed."

He nods. "I guess that's that then."

"I guess it is." Brandi takes her purse. Walking over, she gives him a kiss on the cheek, "Take care, Harvey."

.

He ends up moving back to the bar. He doesn't feel like going home, but it's more than that. There's a feeling of defiance, a childish stubbornness. He was going to have fun, goddammit.

Three drinks in and he spots her at the far end of the bar. He can't really make out her features, but there's something about her that catches his interest. He smiles, she smiles back. He has that effect. His smile widens when he sees her taking her drink and approaching him. His night might still be salvageable.

.

He takes her home, of course he does. Harvey is single – _unattached_ – and he likes sex with beautiful and eager women. And this woman – he wants to say Jenny? – certainly is that. They've been in his apartment for all of five minutes and already he has her bent over the back of the couch, her black dress hitched up as he slides inside her in one swift motion. He looks down, her red hair spilling in waves over her back. He grabs a fistful of it and thrusts harder. Eyes closed, his rhythm is steady and his mind is scattered, from being drunk or horny or both.

He hears her moan and then a breathy, "Julie."

Harvey opens his eyes, "What?"

She's looking at him over her shoulder. "My name. It's Julie." Harvey frowns. Julie smiles patiently, "You called me Donna."

Harvey goes completely still. His mind is suddenly not hazy at all.

Julie gives him a nudge. "It's okay. I don't mind."

But Harvey does. "Yeah," he steps back. "I think you should go."

She doesn't complicate it and he's grateful. He hears the front door closing and he slumps back against the wall.

That's two for two.

Looking down on himself, he rolls his eyes at his dick, still rock hard despite that little humiliation.

Oh, what the hell. It's been a really shitty week, a really shitty night, and Donna has been pretty much the only bright spot in both. It's just a bit of harmless fantasy. It doesn't mean –

The back of his head hits the wall with a thud as his fingers find his cock and tug. He groans as the image of Donna in her strapless dress appears behind his eyelids with alarming ease. He really wants to taste her bare shoulder, put his open mouth on top of it, kiss along her bone to her neck and back again. He imagines her yielding to him, her head angling to the other side to give him better access. Her hair falling over her shoulder, he imagines burying his hand in it, turning her face until she's looking at him, until she can see exactly how much he wants her.

And, god, he wants her. It's safe to think it now, here, as he squeezes the tip of his cock to keep from coming. He wants to fall to his knees in front of her, run his hand up that high slit, feeling her warm thigh under his palm. Until he reaches her ass, giving it a light squeeze as he looks up at her, smiling. She'd mutter something about him being incorrigible, but she's just as eager, and he wants to taste exactly how eager she is.

He thinks about pushing her dress up, about what he'd find underneath, and truth is, it doesn't even matter if it's cotton or lace or matching or not. It's Donna. Donna makes anything hot. He grunts, pumps his cock harder, wetting his lips as he thinks about running the tip of his tongue along the middle of her panties, feeling her clit underneath but reigning it in, content to just tease her. She would call him a bastard, but she'd mean it as a compliment; she'd pull his hair in encouragement, so he'd keep it up.

He sucks on her clit through the material until she can't take it anymore, then he's pulling the panties down and thrusting his tongue just under her clit and fuck fuck _fuck_ his mouth is dry but he can taste her as she rubs her pussy against him, making herself come against his lips. He looks up at her and she's a goner, and she's so goddamn perfect, with her eyes screwed shut and her mouth half open on a moan, and he's done that, he's made her come undone.

He's incredibly close, but he doesn't want this to end, not yet, not when he so rarely indulges in this particular fantasy. So he slows down the movements on his cock, instead moves the other hand down to his balls, cupping. His breathing is ragged and uneven. Taking a deep breath, he imagines standing up, taking her in. He imagines kissing her, long and slow. He imagines walking her back to the couch and doing it right this time. Bending her over the back of it, he takes his time. Guides his cock slowly inside, until he's so deep, she's all he can feel. Moving his hands to cup her breasts from behind, he rolls her nipples between his fingers in time with his thrusts. His lips between her shoulder blades, back of her neck, on her ear.

"Donna."

It's deliberate this time.

Hesitant at first, a half-formed whisper he's reluctant to release. It feels strange, like he's crossing a line or breaking a rule. Like she'll know. But he's too far gone to stop, and next time it comes out more demanding.

"Donna."

He picks up the pace as he massages the spot under his balls, his cock throbbing now and it won't be long –

"Donna," he groans, deep and final, and then he's coming, her name ringing in his ears.

.

Stepping under the shower, he turns his face up to the water, letting it sober him up. There's a reason he doesn't really let himself fantasize about her often. It always leaves him feeling off kilter. It feels too raw. (It feels too close to longing.)

.

He endures the puns on Monday morning,

_How was the vet? Was she purrrrific?_

_Please stop._

_I hope you're feline good this morning._

_You're fired._

and then they never mention it again.

The deal with him and Donna? She gets him and they work.

Harvey doesn't borrow trouble and leaves it at that.


	3. (no one else is) such a beautiful dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in S2, after Donna is fired for the memo fiasco.

III. _what a beautiful dream, I think I'll stay awhile_

_._

He's pretty sure he's experiencing separation anxiety.

He knows the term and he might not be altogether clear on what exactly it entails, but it sounds accurate. It's pathetic and he'll never admit it, but he'll be damned if he's not losing his mind over losing her. His chest feels tight and he feels… restless. Out of place. Adrift.

It's been, what, a few hours now since he pushed that elevator button, and he's home now, but he's still standing there, seeing her off. Seeing her. He pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes screwing shut. Loosening his tie, he enters his bedroom, not bothering to turn the light on. The city lights are bright enough and he can feel himself developing a headache anyway.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he gives it a quick glance. There's a few messages, but he can't even bring himself to unlock the phone and give them a skim. No way in hell would Donna text him so it doesn't matter.

He suddenly realizes he has no idea what he's doing tomorrow. He frowns. Should he set his alarm for 6 or 9. Does he have any meetings scheduled? What should he wear? Just like that, his mood changes and what he's feeling is anger. He tosses the phone on the bed and slams his hand against the wall. "Fuck. Fuck!" His palm meets the wall again.

He has a sudden urge to go to her place and bang on her door and demand to know how the hell she could allow herself to screw up so royally when he's not capable to even dress himself without her. She was always supposed to be there. He was never meant to be without her, that was the deal. She was his constant. Irrationally, he feels betrayed and abandoned and he allows himself a moment to wallow in it, pushing away the thought in the back of his mind that wants to suggest she might be feeling the exact same way. That she would be right to think he had failed her.

There's no way he can sleep tonight, so he medicates with scotch and passes out.

.

"You were supposed to protect me, Harvey. You were supposed to make this right."

It's the middle of the night and she's standing in his office door. She looks disappointed.

"You were supposed to not shred evidence. What the hell, Donna," he shoots up to standing, his arms stretched out in front of him. She can't possibly be blaming him, they had no choice. He had no choice. There had to be consequences, someone had to be fired, and it had to be h—

"I was protecting you!" She's walking over to stand in front of his desk, "You were supposed to do the same! Two-way street, remember?"

He swallows. He does remember. He remembers all too well. "You were supposed to trust me, Donna. Why the hell didn't you come to me with that document?"

She's looking at him like he should know this, and it pisses him off.

"Donna?" he presses.

"I was scared, Harvey! Okay? I was scared."

"Scared of what?"

She takes a deep breath and avoids his eyes, "Letting you down."

Harvey cocks his head. "That's bullshit," he objects, his voice soft.

Donna lifts her eyebrows, "And yet, I'm fired."

"Donna, believe me. If I could have you back -"

"Why didn't you come to my apartment?"

What?

"What?"

"You wanted to come over and yell at me," she's circling his desk, change in her tone. "For being useless without me?" He makes a face, but she seems genuinely curious. "Why didn't you?"

"You wanted me to yell at you," he checks, confused.

She smiles, her fingers brushing his, just the lightest touch. They don't touch. Not anymore. He feels it all the way to his (heart) groin. "You didn't want to yell at me, Harvey."

"I really did."

She smiles like she's pitying him, "You didn't _just_ want to yell at me."

He bites his bottom lip but doesn't say anything. She's right, of course, but that's really neither here nor there. "Donna."

"I don't work for you anymore, Harvey."

He squeezes his eyes shut. He's painfully aware of that. "I know that," he mutters.

"So what's stopping you?"

He looks sharply up at her, standing next to him, so close he has to focus his eyes to properly see her face and what he focuses on are her lips. She's wearing the same lipstick she wore when he was seeing her off into the elevator and out of the firm, and his heart is thumping so wildly now he feels it in his ears.

He wants to kiss her. What the hell is stopping him?

"I'm going to find a way to get you back, Donna."

She smiles and this time it's not perfunctory. There's faith there. In him. Her fingers land on his tie, "I know you will." It turns into something else entirely when she meets his eyes, "But not tonight."

There's a beat, two; neither of them moves. He can feel restlessness in his fingers where they flex by his side. She inclines her head, just a fraction, just enough, and he's grabbing her waist and turning, lifting her up onto his desk and stepping between her legs. She smirks up at him, running her palms up his chest, "Indulging in a fantasy, counselor?"

"You bet your ass I am."

And then he's kissing her, like he means it, like they're not just biding their time until they're working together again. Like he has anything at all to offer her. Her arms are around his neck now, nails scratching the back of his head, pulling him closer, her tongue pliant against his as she moulds herself to him – and isn't that just like their relationship. His hands travel up, over her ribcage, up to the sides of her breasts, thumbs kneading their way to brush against her nipples. He finds them hard and it makes him groan. Always so responsive to him.

He tests that further by slipping his hand down between her legs and sure enough, she's more than ready. So is he, his cock starting to feel uncomfortably full against the restraints of his pants. She was right, though – he will be getting her back, there's no viable alternative, no other way he knows of existing – and so he wants to savor this. It will be off the table soon enough. So to speak.

There's a zipper on the back; he gives it a tug. Pads of his fingers skimming over her shoulders, he pushes down the left strap then the right, all the way down her arms, revealing her breasts, as glorious and as freckled as he remembers them.

He's looking up at her as he leans down, thumbing her bra away, his tongue slowly licking her nipple. She gasps. He feels the insides of her thighs tightening against his legs. He does it again, only slower. The fingers in his hair tug and pull, like she's not sure whether she wants him to back off or do it again. Another fitting metaphor, he thinks, closing his mouth around her nipple and sucking. He's tired of keeping his distance.

Donna is too, if her moan is anything to go by. It spurs him on, his right hand finding her other breast, pinching the sensitive flesh, rolling it between his thumb and middle finger and is rewarded by her grinding herself against him. "Harvey. Please."

He rolls her nipple between his lips before straightening to look at her. "You have no idea how much I've been wanting to do this."

"Have me on your desk? Yeah, I think I have some i—"

"You have no idea." His tone leaves no room for objection.

Her brow knits, but she doesn't dwell on it. Instead, she unbuttons his pants and takes his cock out, giving it a light squeeze. He thinks he could come then and there. Her hand starts to move gently up and down his length, a slow maddening motion. He looks down at her stroking him and it's almost too much. Her long fingers are delicate yet sure around him, the pad of her thumb pressing into the underside of his dick, rubbing with just enough pressure to drive him insane. His eyes roll back in his head. He grabs the top of her exposed thighs to steady himself.

"Harvey," she whispers but it's loud in the empty office. "Look at me."

His eyes snap open just in time to see her wet her fingers between her lips, bringing them down to the head of his cock, and fuck, how can she expect him to last when she's pulling shit like that.

He keeps his eyes open and trained on her regardless. Because she asked him to. Because he can't look away. Her own eyes are on his, wide and clear, like she's looking for something in his expression. She must find it, whatever it is, because her brow softens and she gently cradles his jaw with her right palm, pulling his mouth to hers as her hand – her very wet hand – slides down his cock, from tip all the way to his balls. He thrust involuntarily. She moans around his top lip.

Her hand fondling his sack, she murmurs against his mouth, "There they are."

Harvey frowns, pretty sure she's making a point. His eyes dance over her features, open, vulnerable, "You should have been the one to tell me." She holds his gaze.

He nods, "I know."

"Okay," she nods back.

Harvey marvels briefly at how effortless this always is between them. No one would ever accuse Harvey Specter of being understanding or tolerant or forgiving. He knows that. He's fine with that. Yet with Donna… He wonders what it would take and sees no scenario in which they don't come right back to each other.

Turning around, she moves the scattered documents behind her to the edge of the desk - it's just so like Donna to meticulously organize his paperwork even as she offers herself to him in his place of work - and then she's laying back across it, and Harvey is pretty sure he's never seen anything more arousing in his life. She's propped up on her forearms, her dress pooling around her middle, her pale skin reflected in the surface, her red hair falling in waves behind her, and she's looking up at him like he's it. It's suddenly clear to him, her rule. There is no fucking way he could go from having this to giving her the night off to spend with a date.

He grabs the backs of her knees and pulls her to him, his cock sliding against her clit. She moans and he does it again, and again, and Jesus Christ, she's so wet and perfect and he's so hard for her. He takes his cock and slaps it on her pussy, once, twice, his precum mixing with her juices as he rubs the head over her clit.

"Harvey," she sounds desperate, "I need you to fuck me. Now."

He's inside her before she gets the words out. "Shit. Donna," he groans as he pushes in, "You feel," he slides his cock out almost completely then slams back into her, "Incredible."

She also feels like belonging and could-have-beens, but he's not about to tell her that. Not when she's digging her heels into his ass, making him go deeper, at an angle that's making him lose his mind fast. She arches her back and he snakes an arm under her, uses it to steady her against his thrusts, and he's so close now.

His forehead resting on hers – so warm and _there_ – he closes his eyes against the overwhelming pleasure. His thrusts are faster now, no real rhythm to them anymore, no impressive finesse to wow her with. She grabs the back of his neck and matches him perfectly.

"I'm sorry."

"Harvey…"

"I should have fought harder for you." His mouth on her cheek. "I should have found a way." She moans when he hits the perfect spot inside her. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Fingers on the back of his neck clench harder and he can feel her leg hitching, startled by her shoe falling to the floor behind him –

.

Harvey opens his eyes, disoriented and painfully hard. It's dark and his head is heavy, so heavy. It takes him a long few moments to realize he's lying on his stomach, in his bed, with his hand down his boxers, having a wet dream. He's too out of it and too close to coming to feel embarrassed – he'll get to really savor that feeling in the morning. Now, though, now he needs to come. He screws his eyes shut into the pillow and thinks about Donna. About making her fall apart on his desk, with his dick inside her and his fingers on her clit, her tits, in her hair. Pushing her hair back and kissing her, feeling her clench around him. Making her cling to him through her orgasm as he apologizes over and over again, and she forgives him, every time. It's within minutes that he's coming into his fist and onto the mattress.

He's too drunk and exhausted to clean himself up, and instead he just passes out again and dreams of nothing at all.

.

When he wakes up in the morning, he's groggy and without a clear plan. But he puts on one of his favorite suits and he chooses a tie that goes well with it and fixes it just so, as if to prove to himself he still can. He stares himself in the mirror and decides this can only be temporary. When the dust settles, when Tanner is dealt with, she'll be (back on his desk; he grimaces) back to working for him, back to normal, back to how they're supposed to be. They're a team. The team.

They're not done yet, they're never done, and he doesn't really see any other scenario in which he's guaranteed to never lose her.

(Or he'd be banging on her door.)


	4. i picture you in the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S3/the other time

IV. _(i was caught in between) all you wish for and all you need_

_._

He doesn't like Stephen Huntley right off the bat.

Unsurprisingly. He's there with the sole purpose of being a pain in his ass and while they may be in bed with Darby now, this is still his goddamn firm and his goddamn client, and Harvey doesn't share well with others.

He notices the way he looks at Donna, of course, and at first he suspects it's to get a rise out of him. Not that Donna isn't an attractive woman – Huntley's not the first, he won't be the last to ogle his secretary - but he's known a few Stephen Huntleys during his career, and he knows how they operate. It's a valiant effort, he'll give him that. He obviously knows where to poke the bear. Harvey doesn't bite.

But then suddenly Donna is making copies for him and he's chatting her up at her desk which is right outside his glass office and she's flirting back instead of focusing (on him) on her job and Harvey grits his teeth through it.

His dislike for the man morphs into something altogether different when Donna tells him she's been sleeping with him. Now, Donna can sleep with whomever she damn well pleases and has done so over the years. She may be his secretary and his friend and his – _Donna_ \- and Harvey may be territorial to a fault, but he knows their boundaries and limitations. He's helped set them. He's also a modern man, a goddamn feminist even, and if a woman wants to indulge in some casual sex with an irritating Brit, all the more power to her, is what he says.

Huntley, though? Harvey grimaces as he flicks the light on in his bathroom. He's a sleazeball with an agenda, that's one. He doesn't trust him one bit, not after the stunt he pulled with Gianopolous and certainly not after the stunt he pulled with Mariga, and seeing Donna get hurt is at the very bottom of his list. And if it happens, which he's pretty sure it will, he'll have front row seats seeing as they all work oh so closely together.

And there it is.

It does bother him. She can sleep with whomever she wants but did it have to be someone she works with? He feels petty and it's like she said that morning in their diner - it's her life and she needs to live it and god knows she deserves to have a private life to go to after her workday …

He looks in the mirror. His jaw is clenched; his fingers are white on the bathroom counter. He really is so very bad at sharing. The image of her snuggling up to Huntley at the piano flashes in his head. Yeah.

He splashes water on his face in hopes it clears his mind and makes him stop obsessing over who Donna chooses to date. He stares himself down in the mirror. He feels ridiculous. There's no reason it should bother him. He gave her the speech, that's there and they're over here, but if Harvey's honest with himself – which he isn't, which he can't be – their lines have shifted countless times over the years. And he can't help but feel like she just moved the goalpost – no, the goddamn playing field - by dating a guy she works with.

He hasn't thought – really thought – about the other time in a while. He's not someone who dwells on the what-ifs and that whole memory is loaded with them. This, them, how they are, how they have been for a over a decade; that works. Her breaking some stupid rule from a lifetime ago is meaningless.

He disproves this immediately by grabbing his phone and finding her name. His thumb hovers over it for a split second; he presses it before he has time to change his mind. It rings once, twice. He drums his fingers on the hard surface. Three. Four. He has no idea what the hell he's going to say, especially after interrupting their date and threatening to beat Huntley up, but he needs her to pick up right the hell now. Five. He takes a deep breath and is just about to hang up when she answers.

"Harvey?" She sounds out of breath. He holds his. "Harvey? Hello? Are you there?"

There's a moment where he says nothing, where he just listens for any background noise on her end, where he realizes how incredibly stupid this is. He rubs his forehead and finally, "Donna. Sorry. Pocket dial."

She's silent and he rolls his eyes at himself in the mirror. He knows she's not buying it, but he needs her to play along anyway. She doesn't let him down. "Oh. Okay." She's letting it go. Then, "Listen, Harvey, about –"

"I gotta go, Donna. I'll see you in the morning."

He hangs up before she can say anything else.

He hops in the shower after that. It's been a long ass day. With Jessica, with Huntley, with Donna and his trip down memory lane. He needs to unwind if he's going to get any sleep tonight. He hangs his head as hot water batters the back of his neck, his arms stretched out in front of him holding him up against the tiles.

It's a reflex, more than anything. Muscle memory. His left hand still firmly on the tiles, he reaches for his dick with his right, giving it a tug. Then another. His dick doesn't seem to be in the mood. He's not surprised. He's annoyed with himself – for a myriad of different reasons – but mostly for calling Donna to find out if she was still with Stephen. What the hell was that juvenile shit all about. He might as well have gone to her place and pissed all over her furniture. He can hear her in his head, clear as day, "Whip 'em out, boys and let's get this over with."

His cock twitches in his hand. Harvey rolls his eyes. Fucking typical. He doesn't feel like thinking about her at all, let alone in that context, not when there's a very real possibility she's currently in bed with another man; his dick has other ideas.

He may purposefully not think about the other time, but he does remember it. And if he allows himself to go there, her body is no longer just an abstract expanse of skin, something to wonder about under her outfits. It's something real, something he's touched, something he's tasted, something he can still picture with frightening precision.

Growing harder now, and he does just that.

It proves effortless, conjuring memories of that night. Donna's come hither look, all nonchalance he knows for a fact was a little bit for show. He knows because so was his. The way they both smiled into that first kiss, and how different and new that had felt. How he pulled back and looked at her and saw her, his hand finding the back of her neck, pulling her to him and kissing her for real. How she responded, immediate and perfect.

.

"Finally," he grins against her lips. "I know what you taste like. It's been driving me crazy."

She leans her head back to scrutinize him, "What do I taste like?"

"Hmmmm. Strawberries?" He runs the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip then puts it in his mouth, sucks, "The lipstick?"

"Lip balm."

"Whatever." He leans in again, "I could get used to it."

"I didn't know you were such a fan."

He narrows his eyes at her, "Yeah, you did." There's not a doubt in his mind that's why she put it on tonight.

"I have some in the fridge, if you want to –"

"Oh, I want to. Later." Is she stalling? Harvey pulls back, but only an inch, only enough to give her a proper look, "Are you nervous?"

"Me? Please."

He hums doubtfully, but lets it go. He's eager to kiss her again, but she's a maddening woman, "You know what goes well with strawberries, right." She shakes the can of whipped cream next to their faces.

He grins at her, "You really took to that idea, huh."

"Get with the program already, Specter."

"Oh, I'm there." Without looking, he reaches for the can and takes it, giving it a shake. She watches him curiously, amused. He opens the can and squirts some on his fingers, then smears it slowly across her lips. She tries to say something – a smartass remark, no doubt – but it's unintelligible under his fingers. "Will you shut up so I can kiss you?"

She pauses, her lips slightly parted, white and pink and delicious; Harvey seizes the opportunity and catches her top lip between his own. "Mmmmm," he says around the kiss. "You were right. This goes really well together." He sucks on it gently, watching for her reaction.

"I'm always right," she mumbles into him, but it's half-hearted. His tongue darts out and her eyes droop closed. Smiling, he walks her back into the living room until she's backed up against a far wall. He lets his own eyes shut better to enjoy the taste. Somewhere in the back of his mind, where it barely even registers, a thought niggles at him. That they go really well together.

.

Without realizing, Harvey's fucking his fist. It's slick with water and he skips forward, to him being the one leaning back against the wall, his pants around his ankles, Donna on her knees in front of him, licking her lips. Oh –

.

"Fuck." He swallows, looking down at her. "This is hot. You're hot."

She shrugs, but he knows she appreciates hearing it. "I haven't even done anything yet." She's shaking that damn can of whipped cream again and his head falls back.

"Jesus."

"Oh, you're gonna wanna see this."

He groans and looks down just in time to see her covering the length of his very hard dick.

"You know," he tries conversationally, but his voice is strangled. "Your carpet is going to be a bitch to clean tomorrow."

Donna stops mid-squirt to raise an incredulous eyebrow at him, "Are you seriously thinking about my carpets right now?"

What he's thinking about is trying not to come before she even touches him, but he's not about to admit that to her. "I'm a considerate guy."

"Yeah, right," she snorts and covers his tip. "There."

His cock twitches in anticipation. "So, Donna," he starts. "Are we just going to admire it or are we –"

Before he can finish, she takes him in her mouth and _godfuckingdamn_.

.

Harvey thinks about her lips around his cock, wet and warm, as she took him in. He remembers her making a sound, humming around him as his tip hit the back of her throat and holy shit, he's surprised now that he lasted beyond that point. He remembers the feel of her hair under his fingers; how she looked up at him without ever breaking her slow torturous rhythm, remnants of whipped cream on top and her tongue on the underside of it, the tip just touching his balls as she slid it in deeper.

He needs to stop or he'll come, just like he stopped her then on the verge of a very sudden and very intense orgasm.

.

"I want to fuck you," he offers as way of explanation, pulling her to standing.

"Can't go twice in one night?" Donna challenges.

"Oh, I can go as many times as you like," he grabs her waist and steers her in what he thinks is the direction of her bedroom.

"No, you can't," she changes the course to where her bedroom actually is.

"You don't know that."

"I do know that."

"Fine. Four is my personal best," he shucks his suit jacket. "Still impressive."

"Three, tops. And I'm being generous."

He stops just short of her bedroom, "Any more of your lip and I'm leaving."

She smirks, pulling on his tie, "No, you're not."

He works the corner of his lip, smiling, "No. I'm not." He lets her reel him in for a kiss, chuckling as he falls on top of her on the bed.

.

He thinks about her pussy and that first time he entered her; how he had to stop, still her hips as she sat on top of him and she thought it was to allow her to get used to him inside her. When really, it was to prevent him from coming in seconds like a goddamn teenager. He sees her clearly – her hands on his stomach, her chest heaving, her hair an absolute mess, biting her lip as she looks down at him. His hands traveling up from her hips to her waist, stopping at her ribcage and pulling. She's leaning down, her hands on his face, her hair falling around him. He can remember a thought forming in that moment – _this could be something, I could have this, this could be something I could have_ – but it never fully realizes, certainly never leaves his mouth.

And they start to move.

He pumps into his fist, his fingers twisting, his thumb rubbing the tip with every thrust as his thoughts take a turn – a more dangerous turn – and it's not her pussy or her mouth or her tits he's thinking about. It's her. The way she laughed when he flipped her onto her back, catching her off guard. A spontaneous girlish squeal rather than a seductive giggle. The way she slapped his ass as she followed him into the shower between rounds one and two. The way she wouldn't stop talking. Not with his lips on her clit ("Figures you'd be amazing at this.") or his fingers curling inside her ("You were right – should have done this aaages ago.") or his dick inside her as he fucked her on the kitchen counter ("It's a – jesus, Harvey, right there – a stupid stupid rule.")

The way she made him feel. Like maybe falling in love didn't have to be synonymous with falling apart.

.

Letting out a pained groan, he comes on the tiles in front of him, again and again and again, until he's completely spent. He rests his head on his outstretched arm and watches the water wash it away down the drain.

As he towels off, he catches his reflection in the mirror. It's so foreign, he needs a moment to identify it, but he gets there in the end. Loneliness was never a familiar look on him.

.

The following evening, in a completely different bathroom, he's punching Stephen Huntley into a bloody pulp. He's punching him, for Ava Hessington, for being murdering scum, for tricking them, for using Donna, for deceiving her, for making her cry, for not being worthy of her, for… For not recognizing, not appreciating what he had been so generously offered.

Harvey's only regret is not punching harder.


	5. not a love you’ve had before

V. _this is not a love you've had before (this is something else)_

_._

He doesn't fantasize about Donna after he tells her he loves her. Apparently, he's all about deprivation that night. Self and otherwise.

For all his reminiscing, he honestly thinks Donna is going to let it slide. Recognize the moment in her apartment for what it was – a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgement, an isolated incident that may be true and perfect on its own but that just isn't viable outside those four walls. Out in their actual world where they have everything – everything that matters, everything that's sustainable - and how does she not understand that what they have is just too important to risk. She is too important to risk.

But then she leaves him, a concept so outlandish he doesn't believe it until she's handing him a list of her potential replacements. As if she can be replaced.

She's left him, but she's everywhere. He notices her in technicolor, his mind picking up on things that would have gotten lost in the chaos of his working day mere weeks ago. It's like his Donna-deprivation has made him hyper-aware of everything her. He hears her rounding a corner and her voice stays with him for hours. He catches her averting her gaze just a moment too late and he spends the rest of the day wondering if she sees it – the panic attacks, the abandonment, the loss, the longing. Wonders what she feels now when she looks at him.

He catches whispers and glances that he chooses to ignore; the water coolers at Pearson Specter Litt haven't seen this much action since Hardman last made his comeback.

So when it happens, it's not a purposeful thing. In fact, he's been making an active effort _not_ to think about her in _that_ way. He hates being dramatic, but it feels like her leaving him tore a massive hole in his chest, and he's doing everything in his power to protect what's been so violently exposed.

It's not purposeful, but it is inevitable; she's on his mind all the goddamn time, whether he's in a meeting or inside another woman.

And Esther is a fine woman. She's hot, obviously, but she's also smart and capable and under different circumstances might even be someone he'd consider seeing again. So when he takes her home, he expects a fun uncomplicated evening, a rarity in the Afterdonna – a term he coined himself; he thinks she'd like it.

Instead, when Esther makes her move, he operates on autopilot, his mind plagued with thoughts of family and loyalty, priorities and sacrifices, having everything and having nothing at all. About the last twelve years and the person who defined them. Who defines him.

They have sex, but he's not there, not really.

He's in a bar

_(It's the day you get to meet Donna.)_

in his office

_(Your dad, he had a heart attack.)_

_(You just made partner.)_

_(Are you saying you want everything.)_

at her door

_(Time for you to come inside.)_

_(Maybe you are jealous.)_

inside her apartment

_(You know I love you, Donna.)_

He's with the only woman he ever really meant it with.

And he meant it. Of course he meant it. This way and that way and all the ways there could possibly be, and what does it even matter how. Love was never – _never_ – the issue. Harvey squeezes his eyes shut as Donna explodes behind his eyelids.

Esther sees herself out.

.

And so it begins.

After that night, it happens semi-regularly and completely against his will. She's spilling into his subconscious with alarming predictability. There's the dream with Tanner, that his therapist explains with a Freudian theory he's sure holds some truth to it. But he also knows it sure as hell was Donna in his bed in that dream. He knows this because his dream self spent half the night between her legs, repaying every day of the twelve years she has given him.

All this makes actual Donna riding the elevator down with him at the end of their day a cruel and unusual twist of fate. They've been better lately, starting to exist more comfortably around each other again. That is, in room-fulls of people and busy corridors, not a 6 by 4 enclosed space with no one but them inside it. He can tell she would have rather set her hair on fire than gotten on that elevator with him, but she's left with little choice when one of the assistants ran to catch it immediately after she stepped in, making it too awkward to get out.

She smiles politely and turns to face the door. Makes small talk with Shelly Woodhouse – that's a name he only knows thanks to her – who exits at the next floor down only to make this more awkward for them, he's certain. Screw you, Shelly.

Harvey fixes his eyes on the elevator door in front of him. Her scent fills the small space, though, and he can't ignore her. His thumbs brush against his fingers in a nervous gesture. He wants to touch, but that's certainly out of the question. And what exactly would he do, anyway? It's a rhetorical question, but his mind is quick to supply images of Donna against the side wall, his hands pinning her wrists above her head, his mouth on hers, eager and messy then slower, slow, his fingers trailing up to her hands, entwining with hers, their lips halting but not parting as he breathes her in.

He works his jaw and stares at the doors with unparalleled intensity. Her breathing is loud in the small space. He wishes their offices weren't so fucking high up and that him and Donna weren't this uncomfortable around each other. He doesn't know how to be uncomfortable with her. It sucks.

She clears her throat and he braces himself. "Well, this is kinda awkward," she says matter-of-factly. He spares a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She doesn't turn, doesn't move her eyes from the same spot he was staring at a moment ago. The corner of her mouth is twitching, though. He thinks that maybe they're going to be alright.

Harvey sticks his hands in his pockets, telling his brain, his dick, his heart, to settle the fuck down. And for the first time in a long time, he smiles.

.

Not long and they're having dinner and God how he's missed her. He digs his nails into his palm and tells her how happy he is she's seeing whatever his name is. (It's Mitchell and he damn well knows it.)

When she informs him she's coming back to him, their lives have never been in greater turmoil. Mike's fraud – their fraud – is hanging heavily over all of them; Forstman is seriously pissing him off; the whole firm is in jeopardy. And yet, in that moment, he feels like all the pieces just fall into place. Like the world has righted itself. Like they can't lose.

Donna leaves and he occupies the seat she just vacated, taking a deep breath, merely existing in the same space as her. It feels safe now to acknowledge that Donna inside his apartment is oddly intimate. Harvey wonders how long she was there for before he came home. How much she's gleaned from her stay. It's entirely unlikely Donna went snooping through his drawers, but she's Donna; she knows him better than anyone and it wouldn't take much, not much at all.

Something catches his eye. Walking over, he knows what it is before he reaches it.

He _is_ more sentimental than she thinks.

.

"You know, you could _pretend_ you're having fun."

They're at the bar area of the theater. Her play was actually really good. It felt strange seeing her like that and at first he felt like he was prying, intruding on her life that was as of yet untouched by Harvey Specter. Soon, though, he was captivated. She was captivating.

He meant it when he said the only thing he had going on tonight was her, which is why he's here, mingling. He hates mingling. It's Donna's night, so he perseveres.

"What are you talking about? I'm having a wonderful time."

"Bullshit."

"You know theater people aren't really my scene."

" _I'm_ theater people."

"You're Donna," he looks at her pointedly and she smiles. He likes it when she smiles at him like that. He smiles back.

The moment is broken when a huge bearded guy Harvey recognizes from the play envelopes Donna in a bear hug, kisses her hair. "Bella Donna! You were amazing. I mean, you're always amazing, but I think you have outdone yourself tonight." He turns to Harvey, "Wasn't she spectacular?"

"She sure was."

"Harvey, this is Jeff. Jeff, this is Harvey. Harvey's my boss."

"Harvey Specter," he extends his hand for a firm handshake. He fights the irrational annoyance at her introduction.

"Great to meet you, Harvey. And thank you for freeing up Donna's evenings so she can make rehearsals. The play just wouldn't be the same without her."

Harvey thinks he catches some double meaning there, but can't be sure. He can never tell with these folk. "It's important to Donna, it's important to me."

"I'll drink to that," the man laughs heartily and downs his drink.

The three of them chat; he watches Donna, open and animated, in her element here. He's pretty sure he hasn't stopped smiling, but he doesn't feel like reigning it in. Soon, Donna is waved over by a group by the bar. "I won't be a minute." She leans to whisper in his ear, "Be nice." She gives him the look and is gone. He's left with Jeff, who actually seems alright, if a bit tipsy. Harvey is about to make small talk when Jeff gets to the point, "You should tell her."

Harvey doesn't so much as blink, "Tell her what?"

"How you feel." Jeff is grinning like a fool, completely unbothered by how incredibly not his business this was.

Harvey sets his jaw; he doesn't have these sort of conversations. Ever. "I _feel_ like getting myself a drink. Nice meeting you, Jeff."

"Don't worry, she doesn't know," he says before Harvey makes a move to leave. "Which is weird, right. She's Donna," Jeff shrugs. "Donna knows everything. And you're not exactly subtle, moon eyes."

"You're way out of line."

"Hey, I'm not looking to piss you off," Jeff raises his hands in surrender.

"Then you need to walk away."

"Okay. Okay." He looks at Harvey with friendly sympathy. "Good luck, man. Really."

Harvey watches him join a conversation, slapping a few shoulders. He turns around only to bump into Donna. She sighs, "What did you do?"

He rolls his eyes, but before he can answer she's waving it off, "Never mind, I don't want to know. Come on. Let's get a drink."

She's walking off, but he just stands there, rooted to the spot, gaping after her.

Donna knows everything. Donna knows _everything_. Except for those things she doesn't want to know.

He moves to follow; he feels like a drink himself.

.

He doesn't let it spoil the mood. Tonight is about Donna, after all, and he's her friend.

Friend. He knows he wouldn't be bringing it up if he weren't three sheets to the wind, but he is and he wants to. He turns to her to do just that when some kid's shoving a camera in their faces. Harvey groans.

"Come on, just the one. It's your girlfriend's big night."

"Oh, we're not together, Steve, Harvey is my –"

"Friend," he finishes for her. "We're old friends."

She slaps his chest, "Speak for yourself, Grandpa."

Harvey catches her wrist, turning her. "We're friends," he repeats, a slight question in his voice. Donna searches his eyes in confusion. He bites the inside of his cheek and decides, what the hell. "Before, with Jeff. You said boss. But I'm not here for my secretary. I'm here for my friend."

Her eyes soften on his and she gives a slight nod. "We're more than friends," she smiles that gentle smile. "We're Donna and Harvey." She straightens his tie, pats his chest pocket, lingers. "Now. Smile for the damn camera so I have proof Harvey Specter went to see Shakespeare because he's a great big sap."

Harvey rolls his eyes at her – he could kiss her, he could fucking kiss her right then – but when they turn around, the kid is no longer there.

.

Steve finds him later, as he's getting their coats. Donna is somewhere out front, saying her goodbyes and Harvey's just about to collect when the kid approaches him. "Oh, hey, there you are. I forgot to take your details before. It's been crazy tonight, everyone wanted a snap, you know how it is."

"You never took our picture."

"I sure did. It's not the best, but if you give me your e-mail, I can send it to you. Better something than nothing, am I right."

He is so right. "Sure. Why not." He's kinda curious anyway.

He gives Steve his personal e-mail address – that way he can surprise Donna and score some points - and a few days later he receives it. Steve was right, it's not the best photo. It's wonky, for starters. He can't see half of Donna's face, either. She's facing away, facing Harvey, her palm flat on his chest as she seemingly stares at Harvey's collar. It's his own face that stops Harvey dead in his tracks. He leans back in the chair, swallows. Wonders if this is what Jeff saw earlier that night. Because in the photo, he's looking down at her with tenderness he didn't even know he was capable of. The moment is too intimate and he presses the x to close it. He never forwards it to Donna.

He prints it out a few nights later and it lives on his living room shelf, snug between Miles Davis and his dad.

.

He pokes the corner with his finger, unsure whether he wants to retrieve it or push it back between the records. Finishing the drink Donna made him in one gulp, he braves it tonight. Tonight, when they're finally back to being Harvey and Donna, it feels only right to face what Harvey and Donna looks like.

As with the other handful of times he looked at the photo, it takes his breath away. He really is a sap. He closes his eyes as if to make peace with the fact, then he's undoing the buttons on his waistcoat and walking off towards the bedroom, the picture dangling from between his fingers.

When he dreams about her that night, he's not fucking her. He's sitting up against the headrest and he's buried deep inside her, but he doesn't move. She doesn't move either. His arms are splayed across the length of her back, pressing her to him, closer, his fingers hooked over the back of her shoulders, covered by her hair. She has his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs from the corners of his mouth and across his cheeks, and back again, smiling softly. He can feel her everywhere. He doesn't want to move. He doesn't want her to stop looking at him like that. Ever.

"What if I wanted everything?"

Her thumbs still on his cheeks for a tiniest moment, before she resumes the gentle movement. "Do you?"

He thinks about it. Really thinks about it. "I think I could," his heart is in his throat, on his tongue.

"I know." She sounds sad.

"What about you?" Her eyes are locked on his, but he can't read her. She knows him, understands him on such a profound level, it would petrify him if he didn't trust her so completely. And he knows her right back, he does; but every once in awhile he stumbles upon a small corner of her that he can't begin to comprehend. This has always been one of them. "What do you want, Donna?"

He remembers their confrontation in his office, how sure she was in her anger at the thought he might have been pitying her. But when he asked her point blank if she wanted everything from them, she didn't know it then, either.

Her eyes dance over his face and he swallows against the fear. But then her expression shifts and she's leaning in, her lips brushing against his in a barely there touch.

"Donna," he mumbles, but she's shushing against his skin, her bottom lip trailing the curve of his mouth, her nails gentle behind his ear, until all his senses are overloaded with Donna, until he can't think anymore.

He buries his hand in her hair and pulls her into him. He's never been the one to force a soul-searching conversation anyway, especially when he's dreading the answers he might get. So he settles for the next best thing. He flips them over without breaking the kiss, until he's on top of her.

"Is this what you want?"

"Yes," she says it like it's obvious.

He pushes deeper. She arches her back off the bed, and here, like this, she's responsive to his every move. Her head falls back, exposing her throat and Harvey seizes the opportunity and trails his open mouth over the length of it. He can feel her moans on his tongue. She clenches around his dick in retaliation and he thrusts harder. Tracing his fingertips up her arms, he pushes until they're above her head, until his palms are in hers, pinning them in place.

Donna spreads her fingers and they fit perfectly between his. He's never done that before. It's an odd thought to have, but it sticks out in his mind.

He brings his face to hers; her eyes ground him as he slowly moves inside her.

"You want everything." It's not a question.

"No," his voice is heavy between thrusts. "I want anything, Donna." His fingers tighten around hers as a reflex. He pushes deeper inside her, filling her completely, "I'll take anything. But don't leave me again."

Her hips lift off the bed to meet him. One of his hands moves to her hip, to guide her, to set the pace. He doesn't want a quick release. With Donna, it's always been about the slow burn.

Her free hand lands on his face; his eyes are on hers as they move together slowly. Harvey thinks this is what making love must feel like. He wishes he knew.

"I'm back," she whispers. "I came back to you, Harvey."

He grunts in response, burying himself inside of her.

"I'm here. I'm right here." Her hand is still in his on the pillow, and she squeezes it. Bringing his face down to her, she whispers against his lips, "I'm not going anywhere. Just let go. Come for me, Harvey."

Moaning into her mouth, he does just that, coming inside her over and over again, and he never really does that, either. But he'd want to, with Donna. He'd want to try a lot of things with Donna.

He knows this is a dream, knows it can't be real, which is why it's so easy to roll over to his side and pull her to him, closer, until he's holding her and holding on to her.

It's not real, so it doesn't matter if he lets it slip, just this once.

He mutters into her hair, "This is how."


	6. rip this map to shreds my dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during season 6. They smile, they drink, they flirt, at 6 am and at midnight and when they need someone.

VI. _rip this map to shreds my dear_

.

There's a shift, gradual but very much there. He doesn't really notice it, not until later, but looking back, he thinks it starts the night he comes to her apartment, thinking about turning himself in.

Every visit to her place has been loaded with emotion, including that godawful dinner party, but he's feeling too raw to go anywhere else but to her. There's a front to Harvey that he's spent years perfecting, that he's proud of, that he himself buys into most of the time. Or he used to. Life is here and he's up here; he doesn't have dreams, he has goals; he doesn't care because caring makes people vulnerable. It's all bullshit, he's full of bullshit, but people buy what he's selling and it's worked wonders for him.

Donna is not people.

So when Mike is facing jail – Mike, his friend, his brother, his protégé – when it's his fault, he goes to Donna. He's all out of bullshit.

There are not many things Harvey hates more than being emotionally vulnerable, and that's pretty much exactly what he associates her apartment with. He kissed her there for the first time – for the last time; and, damn, there's a thought. He was just outside, begging her to come back to him. He told her he loved her in that space; he threw her salary in her face there, too.

It makes no sense he should feel at all comfortable there. It's uncanny how easy she makes it for him.

She's wrong for once. She's right in that he wants to be talked out of turning himself in. He's not Mike, he's not honorable to a fault. Sometimes he wants to be, but he isn't. She's wrong about that being the reason he comes to her, though. He's desperate enough that in the heat of the moment, he might just do it; and he hasn't made a big decision without discussing it with Donna first in nearly twelve years.

It's like that night wipes the slate clean of the fiasco that was his impromptu declaration last time he was in her living room. Like the weight of the I-love-you and her leaving and his embarrassing dependency is lifted and replaced by another, different intimacy.

She's back, really back. And he can come to her again. They are comfortable in each other's space. It feels safe to relax the boundaries, just a little.

.

The night Mike goes to jail – the night they lose their partners and their associates and their clients; the night they get high – he comes home the wrong side of 2 AM. He's exhausted, in every possible way. He almost doesn't check his phone, but he guesses it's muscle memory.

Irrelevant, old, old, really old, and a missed call from Donna. She left a voicemail. He looks at the time stamp and works out she must have just been leaving the firm when she left it. He presses play.

"Hey. I know you don't want to talk about it." A pause. "Which is why I'm leaving a voicemail, I guess," she sighs. "I just wanted you to know… I'm heartbroken about Mike. And Rachel. God, Rachel. And I know you're blaming yourself and you don't want to feel better," she pauses. Then, "I guess what I called to say was, I'm really glad you're not in prison." There's a beat, two, and he thinks she's going to say something else. But then he hears a click and the voicemail ends.

He's sure she was going to say something else.

It's late, though, so he texts instead. _Thank you, Donna._

It seems inadequate, but it's all he's got tonight.

All he can think about is Mike in a cell, and he doesn't even try to fight it. It's the least he can do.

.

The painting is gone. It shouldn't be a big deal, and he's upset with himself for being upset about it. It's nothing but a relic from another time, a testament to a person who hasn't been a part of his life – a part of his family – for a good long time, for a good reason. Harvey prides himself on being a pragmatist. He shouldn't mind giving up something of abstract value for something real – this firm that he's given himself to for years; the family he has created with these people, family he'd do anything to keep together. This family he _will_ keep together.

He drinks to that. A lot.

It's midnight, but he's still at the office, listening to his dad, longing for that connection. Longing for a connection.

He picks his phone up from the table, twirls it between his fingers. And makes up his mind.

_Hey._

He makes a face and deletes it immediately. God.

He stares at the blank screen, chewing the inside of his bottom lip. Decides on the truth. She enjoys the truth.

_Did you know my dad wanted to be a baseball player?_

She doesn't reply for what seems like an embarrassing eternity and Harvey figures she's asleep. But then she texts back.

_I did not know that._

_It's true. He always said he didn't set out to be a musician, he just couldn't help it._

_That sounds poetic. Sounds like your dad._

_Yeah._

He sends it, then adds _I think I know what he meant._

He didn't use to. He always thought people were in full control of their own destiny. Their desires and goals. But recently, he feels like there are so many things that he feels, that he is, that are out of his hands.

_Are you okay?_

_Stemple took the painting._

He doesn't elaborate. He doesn't have to.

_I'm sorry, Harvey._

He closes his eyes and nods. Puts the phone down. The screen lights up a minute into the next song.

_Play track 8. That one's my favorite._

Harvey smiles and changes the song. Sitting back in his chair, he closes his eyes. It's a good track. Donna has the copy – he made sure she didn't miss out – and he knows, he _knows_ , she's listening to the track, too.

.

He dreams about her that night; in a tank top and a ponytail, laughing at his childhood photos while they listen to his dad's first album.

He doesn't think about the dream but it stays with him anyway.

.

He's in the car with Mike and Cahill, halfway between leaving Rachel and getting Mike back to prison, when he messages her.

_He's taking the deal._

He doesn't want to say too much over text, and he doesn't think he should call her.

_He was never going to say no to having that back._

Her message doesn't call for a reply. Harvey types it anyway.

_I guess some things you just can't live without._

She doesn't send anything back, and he convinces himself it's for the best. What is she supposed to say anyway. He's pretty sure she's still seeing that Mitchell guy, and Harvey doesn't even know where he's going with this.

It's much later when his phone buzzes.

_Tell me about it._

_._

He's lying behind her, his chest to her back, his dick filling her, his fingers on her pussy. "You're so wet," he moves his lips against the back of her neck. Adds, "For me."

"Mmmm," she moans in what he's sure is confirmation when he trails his middle finger up her clit. "Who else."

It's a rhetorical question, but more importantly it's also his goddamn fantasy. "No one," he slides his cock out until his tip is at her opening, holds it there, slowly fills her again. "Just me."

Donna chuckles at that, "Sure of yourself." It may be his fantasy, but she still won't take shit from him and that in itself is such a turn on. "Are we going steady?"

Harvey kisses behind her ear, "Is that turning you on?" He rubs circles on her clit, a firm and deliberate rhythm, and she moves her hips into the motion.

Donna reaches down, places her hand on top of his between her legs, slides it lower to his balls. He groans and then groans in protest when she moves and his cock slips out of her. She turns around, hooks her leg over him, taking his dick and hovering over it. She smiles down triumphantly, "It sure is turning you on."

He makes a strangled sound as she slowly lowers herself on him, "What are you doing to me." She looks pretty damn perfect as she starts to rock back and forth, touching herself, all dishevelled and his.

"I'd say that's fairly obvious."

He catches her eye and the double meaning. "Yeah. I guess it is."

He used to be better at compartmentalizing, separating the feelings from the physical. In fact, he insisted on it. It's unnerving how they've become one and the same.

Reaching to pull her down for a kiss, he thrusts up hard and the change in angle makes them both gasp. He does it again, and again, until she's crying out his name and he's come all over his sheets.

.

_The deal is off the table._

He presses send and walks over to the mini bar to fix himself a drink. He's in a rotten fucking mood tonight. He takes the first sip when he hears the message.

_Wanna talk?_

He chews that over. It's late, really late, but he does. He really does. He presses call.

"Hey."

"Hey," he walks over to the couch.

"What happened?"

"Mike got screwed."

"Harvey."

He sighs, "They pulled his deal and Cahill wants to do the right thing."

"Despite what that means for Mike."

"Funny thing is, Mike would probably agree with him," he muses.

"Mike's a good guy."

Harvey nods. Then, "Am I a good guy?"

"Yes," her answer is immediate, certain. He wonders if it's a reflex now. If she gives it any thought at all.

"Am I? Cause I've been involved in some pretty shady shit over the past few years and I didn't care, Donna. And now I'm about to try and win for the guy I know for a fact is guilty."

"Jessica wants a win."

"Yeah. I can't blame her." He works his jaw, "Which is kinda my point."

"You'll figure out a way to get Mike out."

"That's not –"

"That's exactly what this is all about, Harvey. You're not worried about your soul. You're worried about Mike."

"Can't I be worried about both?"

"You're a good guy, Harvey," he can hear her sigh. "You do shady shit to protect the people you care about and you're a pain in the ass, but I know you well enough to know you _are_ a good guy."

He smiles, just a little. "Okay."

"Okay."

They sit in silence and it's not uncomfortable. Finally, he says softly, "Goodnight, Donna."

"Goodnight, Harvey."

She's probably right; he doesn't give a rat's ass about his soul. He doesn't think much about it, if he's honest. But it's still nice to know she does.

.

He hears about Mitchell from Louis, of all people. He doesn't feel slighted, not really; they don't really talk about their romantic lives, not anymore, and that's all for the better. Still. He thinks it would have been nice to hear it from her.

He gives her a chance to do just that one night as they're both leaving the office at the same time for once. "So. Any plans for the evening?" he strikes up casually as they walk from his office to the elevators. "Mitchell taking you anywhere nice?"

Her face falls, just a little, just enough for him to feel like a complete asshole. He wishes he wasn't this emotionally stunted.

"We broke up, actually."

"I'm sorry, Donna." He means it. He's sorry he's such an insensitive dickhead, for one.

"That's okay." They round a corner and she presses the button. "I mean, it's not, but it will be."

"Why did you break up?" Donna shoots him a puzzled look and he shrugs; he didn't see that one coming, either.

"I don't really want to talk about it, Harvey."

He's all too happy to drop it. "Okay."

The doors open and they step in. They ride downstairs in silence.

It's when they're exiting the building and about to part their ways, that she turns to him and says, "When it came right down to it, I guess… I guess I just realized he was someone I could live without. And that isn't cutting it anymore."

Harvey knows exactly what she means.

.

He wants to make her come in the elevator.

That's never ever going to happen – there are cameras, it's their place of business, Donna would slap him if he tried because there are cameras and it's their place of business – but that doesn't mean he can't think about it right here on his couch.

He rubs himself through his suit pants, palm flat and plenty of friction, just like he imagines it would feel against her, pinned between him and the wall. Her dress is blue and accessible, not because he needs the details but because that's what she wore to work that day. He thinks about spreading her legs with his own then running his hand up her inner thigh, all the way up to her panties. About Donna's moan as he kisses up her jaw. About her hand reaching down to cup him, him grabbing her wrist and staying her movement, "I'm good."

"You're not good."

"I'm more than good," he gives her a smug grin and she rolls her eyes. He rubs his very hard bulge against her leg as he slips two fingers inside her, nothing teasing about it as he twists them inside her. She spreads her legs a bit to give him more room to manoeuvre and he takes the hint, adds the third finger.

He's sporting a serious erection now, his dick tenting prominently in his suit pants and he gives it a squeeze then presses down firmly. Rubbing down his length, he can almost feel her reciprocating with her thigh as her hips grind down on his hand. He closes his eyes and focuses on the memory of her pussy, how it felt around his fingers the other time, the last time – the only time, but he doesn't want to linger on that thought. How responsive she was, how responsive she would be, with his fingers moving in and out and in again, hooking just so until he's found that spot that makes her head fall back, that makes her moan his name. He thinks he could still find it effortlessly, thinks he'd still know how to make her come fast and hard or tease her, keep her on the brink of an orgasm until she's cursing him out, and both sound good to him. Donna isn't shy when it comes to sex – he remembers that, too; how confident she was, not at all hesitant to touch herself when she needed it – and the thought of her fingers rubbing her clit as he pumps in and out of her makes him buck up into his hand. He's pretty sure if his dick was out, he'd have come already, and this, this is good, this is…

It's the feel of Donna against him, even if it's through layers of clothing. It's his thumb joining her fingers on her clit, making her tense up as her pussy tightens around his fingers, crying out as she comes. It's the feel of her arm slinging around his neck bringing him closer and kissing him like it hasn't been over a decade at all, like it's something they do, kiss each other and fuck in elevators.

It's that last thought that finally tips him over the edge, and he's coming hard in his pants.

He looks down at his lap. His suit is ruined. He briefly wonders the same about himself.

.

Mike gets out and it's a good day. It's a great day.

When he tells Harvey he's not coming back, it's a huge blow. He can fix it, though; it's literally what he's known for. He's a closer, and Mike, he wants to be closed. He's fresh out of prison and he needs to get this out of his system, but ultimately he wants to work with Harvey, there's no doubt about that in his mind. There can't be; he's worked so hard for this. They're family.

Which is why, when Jessica informs him of her resignation, it's not just a blow. It's a goddamn knockout. He feels it in his gut, his chest, the back of his throat. Cause there's no closing Jessica. Jessica knows what she wants, she's made up her mind, and it's not them. It's not him.

He wouldn't be the lawyer he is today without Donna. He wouldn't be a lawyer at all without Jessica.

He feels it in his chest the most.

So when Donna asks, he tells the truth. He doesn't want to be alone. In fact, he's getting kinda sick of people leaving him. It seems like he's losing people he cares about left and right; Mike, Jessica, slipping through his fingers; and him, powerless to stop them. Donna holds his hand and he holds on to her and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, he wouldn't be coming back tomorrow morning if she weren't there to stand beside him. This firm is his people and his people are deserting.

They stay like that for a really long time. He realizes at some point he's been stroking his thumb over the back of her hand, but she doesn't seem to mind so he doesn't stop. Her skin feels warm and real under his, and he needs that.

Eventually, he shifts and she sighs and her fingers slip out of his as she turns to leave. She puts a hand on his bicep, just a gentle squeeze, "Call me if you need anything."

She takes a couple of steps before he musters, barely audible, "You're not gonna leave me, are you?"

He hears her stop, sees her turn around in the reflection in the window. "Of course not, Harvey." She sounds quiet but firm.

But she did, once. And he doesn't resent it, but he does remember what it felt like, and he knows she can't make that promise.

He says none of that. "Okay."

But she knows him. "You're not the only one who cares, Harvey. I'm not here because I'm doing you a favor."

She stands there for a few moments, long enough to make a point. He nods and he sees her do the same. He wishes he wasn't too chickenshit to take her home.

.

She brings him coffee in bed and it's perfect; the coffee and her, and he thinks this could work.

Until she informs him he can't have both, he can't have everything, he's on his own.

And if dreams really are about greatest wishes and biggest fears, well then, Harvey sure feels like he hit a jackpot with this one.

.

He goes to see Lily. He doesn't think it'll repair their relationship, not really. But he's sick and tired of it affecting all the other relationships in his life, tired how weak and powerless it makes him feel, and if there's even the slightest chance he can put it to rest, he'll take it.

(Donna thinks it will work. It makes all the difference.)

It goes as bad as he thought it would, of course. He's unable to be in the same room with his mother without all the resentment bubbling to the surface. He's not over it. He'll never be over it. Bobby coming at him like it's his family, like he has any right, only solidifies that for him.

He feels ganged up on, rejected, misplaced. He needs to feel like he belongs.

He calls Donna.

"I can't do it." He sits down on the bed in the guest room, rubbing the back of his neck. "Me and her. It's just never gonna get better."

"Harvey," she trails off.

"There's too much water under the bridge, Donna. And she actually thinks she," he searches for words. "She thinks she has the right to this life, this life she's built by betraying my dad, and I'm just supposed to, what? Be fine with that?"

"You hold people to an impossible standard." He doesn't know what he expected her to say, but it wasn't that.

"Not cheating on my dad or making me lie about it are hardly impossible standards, Donna."

"No, that was wrong and horrible and damaging, but Harvey. People can hurt people they love and still love them. One doesn't have to cancel the other out, and you of all people should know that." Harvey feels his throat constrict so he stays silent. "She's your mom, she loves you, Harvey. Of course she wants you in her life. And I think you want her in yours. I know you need her in yours." She adds quietly, "And forgiving her isn't betraying your dad."

Trust Donna to hit the nail on the head. He screws his eyes shut and feels grateful he's not having this conversation in person. "He forgave her a long time ago."

"I know."

"I should have told him. Maybe they could have," he trails off.

"That's a very big could have, Harvey." She's quiet then and he wonders if that's the end of the conversation when she finally says, "You need to stop holding that kid to an impossible standard, too. Maybe it's time you let him off the hook."

His throat is tight so he only nods. He wonders if he can; decides to try.

.

He dreams about coming to her door. Donna knows why he's there and that makes him bold. He takes a step forward, cocks his head, shrugs. She understands so it's easy to close that distance, put his hand on her neck and bring her to him and just hold her there, her face not an inch from his.

"I made things right with my mom."

"Good." He feels her breath on his lips.

"I think I'm ready now."

She stands on her bare toes and her lips are on his, warm and open. Kissing her back, his arm goes around her waist and he's scooping her up and walking them back into her apartment where they pick up where they left off so many years ago.

Sometimes, his dreams are so easy and he wonders if that's not worse.

.

He texts her when he feels like it now.

_Did you know that shitty Thai place is being looked at by the Health Department?_

_You know that's not funny, right._

_I thought you'd like to know, as a concerned friend and someone whose food you order._

_Are you serious?_

_Yes._

_How do you know?_

_I was passing it this morning and two guys in hazmats came out, it didn't look good._

_Screw you, Harvey._ And, _Go to bed._

_I can't, I'm googling my symptoms._

_._

He dreams about her more frequently, too. And it's becoming harder to brush off.

"You dream of me a lot," she's sitting on his kitchen counter, in his shirt, looking like everything he wants.

"I've noticed that," he approaches her to stand between her legs.

Donna puts her arms around his neck, smiling, "There used to be more sex, though."

He smiles back at her, breathing her in. It's vanilla. It's always vanilla. "I guess we're an old couple now, huh."

Her smile turns sad. "That would be nice."

He buries his face in the crook of her neck and his chest feels too small for everything he's feeling.

.

Donna wants more.

If he's honest, he kind of suspected it when he found out about The Donna. He's worked with her for long enough he knows she deserves it. He's been her friend for long enough to know she needs this. That's why he called in a favor. That, and her project with Benjamin still allowed her to have that while staying at the firm. With him.

Harvey is aware of his abandonment issues, he just doesn't like thinking about them all that much. He has tried to shield himself by not caring, by not getting attached. But he did care and he was attached, and people did leave him. A whole list of people, actually, Jessica being the latest. They all stung, bitterly so, and yet none even touched what he felt when Donna left him. He had many attachments, but none as intricate or as confusing as Donna.

She wants more and he's been paying attention for long enough to know that she'll get it this time. And it won't be at her desk outside his office.

He realizes then that, despite priding himself on being three steps ahead of the game, on being able to predict a situation and play the man. Despite having an answer and a plan for pretty much anything life threw at him, he never did have a contingency plan for Donna.

He's needed her for long enough to know he should probably get one.


	7. a design, an alignment, a cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during season 7, so beware of u no hoo. Just like on the show, though, she’s powerless in the face of force majeure that is Darvey.

VII. _a design, an alignment, a cry_

.

Things change - he's the managing partner at their firm and Donna is no longer his secretary – and he thinks they're both adjusting remarkably well. They don't text anymore and he doesn't call her in the middle of the night to shoot shit or bare soul, but he has Paula now, and that sort of thing seems like something you do with a woman you're romantically involved with. (And he'll wonder, in the after, how the fuck that flew right over his head, again and again for years.)

He doesn't think about her like that anymore, either. It's not a conscious effort, he doesn't try; it would be inappropriate and wrong and Harvey Specter is a lot of dubious things, but he's not a cheater. He is seeing someone and that's the end of that.

He keeps it from Donna in the beginning, his relationship. That's more of an effort, but he wouldn't call it conscious, not really. He doesn't even know why he hasn't told her, except for the uncomfortable feeling in his gut that doesn't want to mix the two. It's funny then that the person he goes to for advice on the matter is Paula; but she knows him, and Donna, and him and Donna, so really, it only makes sense to ask for her input on the matter. And when she pushes him

_\- she loves you and a part of you likes it –_

he does the right thing and he tells Donna, but she knew already, except she didn't and she's giving him back the key to his apartment, and it feels like a break-up. It's ridiculous and inaccurate, but every inch of space they put between them always feels exacty like a break up to him.

He carries the key with him for days. He gives it to Paula on their two month anniversary – which he forgot; he didn't forget Donna's anniversary with Mark, but that's not a conscious thought, either - and it feels like a milestone. It's not like Donna will be using it anyway, or she wouldn't have given it back.

(He misses her. Outside his office and inside his brain, and _that_ he makes a conscious effort not to think about.)

.

Donna kisses him in her office, as if he's not in a relationship. As if she's not well aware of his issues with cheating. As if her rule from twelve years ago has been amended and she's just now informing him of that.

His eyes should be open and his mouth should be firmly shut, but that's not what's happening because she didn't give him enough time for should. He feels her thumb behind his ear and his heart does, too. So does his dick, apparently, and he's never felt less in control than in that moment. His hands are hanging by his sides when he knows he should be pushing her away. (Later, when he can face it, he'll admit he didn't put his hands on her for fear of pulling her in.) She pulls away and she's apologizing, and that's not how it's supposed to go – he's meant to be the one breaking the kiss. She shouldn't have to remind him why this is a bad fucking idea.

His fingers tingle from not touching her.

.

Paula is there when he gets home, and it's not the best timing, but he's glad. Paula is good for him. Paula is exactly what he needs. Paula is uncomplicated. (Paula is not Donna.)

He means it when he tells her she makes it all go away. Since Jessica left the firm -

(since Donna wanted more)

\- he's felt unsure of himself, fidgety, like he was treading water. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. With Paula, the buzz of the responsibilities and the insecurities just… stops. He likes the effortless ease and the low stakes his relationship has been. He wants more of that. That's why he asks her to move in with him, and yeah, it's possible he's overreacting to what happened earlier, but just the thought of it placates him.

They share a drink and she tells him about her day and it's a good distraction. Until she gets up, gathers her things. He stands up, too.

"I'm going to go, Harvey."

"What? No. Why?"

She frowns up at him, and he really needs to get his shit together. "I'm tired and I have an early start tomorrow," she smiles, caresses his cheek. "And you look like you could use the rest."

He closes his eyes, leans into the touch. It feels good. It feels safe. He looks at her, musters a smile of his own, "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

She nods, stands on her toes to kiss him. "Good night, Harvey." She presses her lips to his, and then her hand is stroking the back of his head and the action irritates him. She doesn't notice, doesn't suspect anything as she steps back and he sees her out. It makes him feel like a douchebag. It makes him feel like he's cheating.

He still feels her fingers on the back of his head as he closes the front door. Not Paula's. Donna's. He feels them in his hair, on his neck, along his jaw, and he's so fucking angry with her for making him feel this way when he was doing so well. He has a girlfriend, a commitment – something he hadn't been missing, something _she_ was always pushing on him like that was what would finally fix him – and he's been doing all the right things and actually making it work. Except now he's stood in the middle of his empty apartment with a semi, thinking about how what he really wanted to do earlier was open his mouth to her and put his hands on her waist and walk her back to her desk and, god help him, make love to her.

He doesn't want to think about it. He _can't._ He wouldn't be, if Paula stayed. If he had a distraction. If Donna didn't kiss him.

What the hell was she thinking. He walks over to where he left his phone on the coffee table, grabs it, stops. He wants to call her, wants to talk to her, is itching to go to her place, have it out and say his piece and demand some goddamn answers. And the fact that he can't do that is pissing him off the most. He was always able to go to Donna.

(Except he also knows he doesn't really want to go to Donna, doesn't want to have that conversation at all. Is scared shitless of what might be said. He doesn't think about that part. He doesn't think about how he didn't tell her about Paula, either. How he hasn't been telling her a whole fucking lot, actually. It's easier that way.)

Leaving the gin and tonic, he pours himself a scotch and sits down, ignores his dick. Finishes his drink, then another. Plays with his phone, opens her messages and starts typing. Deletes it. Tossing the phone aside, he gets up to pour himself another, but ends up pacing the apartment instead. He catches a glimpse of himself in the balcony door and he's a goddamn mess. Admitting defeat, he takes himself to bed.

He picks up the phone on his way. Shucks his shoes off, undoes his tie and sits on the bed. Rubbing his forehead, he opens his recent calls list, skims past Donna's name and taps Paula.

She answers after the first ring. "Harvey? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine," he sits back against the headrest. "I just wanted to make sure you got home safely."

"That's sweet," he can hear smile in her voice. Concentrates on that. "I'm just getting into bed, actually."

"Oh," his voice is suggestive and she chuckles. "Don't tell me you've never had phone sex before."

"I'm not _that_ prudish, you know," she shoots back. "But I really do have to be up early, and it's getting late. Rain check?"

Harvey nods, "Sure." And then Paula is yawning and, "I guess that's my cue."

She laughs again and they say their goodnights.

Settling back into the pillows, he closes his eyes and pictures Paula, all openness and vulnerability and understanding, all everything he needs. He's never dated anyone who knew him on such an intimate level.

_because she's special_

Would have been too scared to try.

_with you, it's different_

But he feels like he's really done some growing and he can be that man now. The Harvey Specter who has his shit together. The Harvey Specter in a stable relationship. The Harvey Specter committed.

_I'm sorry, Harvey._

He works his jaw.

_I just had to know._

The rest of him remembers, too, and his fingers flex but his hands rest firmly by his sides.

He was too stunned to do anything but stare dumbly as she walked away, and he thinks now what she would have said if he'd grabbed her wrist and stopped her. If he'd asked her what the hell she thought she was doing. What the hell that even meant?

What she would have said if he'd asked her if she was actually sorry. Cause he doesn't think she was. Not one bit.

His jaw clenches tighter, his dick twitching in his pants at the thought of them standing toe to toe, his fingers around her wrist, and the look she's giving him is one of silent defiance, and he knows that look. He's seen that look countless times over the years. It's the look that she has when he's being purposefully obtuse. When she thinks she knows better than him and she's waiting for him to catch up. Well, he's all caught up now, he thinks, and he tugs her to him and kisses her hard, like he wants to get it over with. Like once he's done it there's no going back, and there is no going back because he's fully hard now and he hasn't even touched himself. Fingers dig into his palms and into her wrist, her waist, as she hooks her arms around his neck and pulls him in, just like earlier, just like twelve years ago. Just like he remembers. Running his palm up her arm and over her shoulder, he grabs the side of her neck, deepening the kiss. He feels her moans in his fingertips.

He swallows down a sound in the back of his throat; it escapes in a whimper and he should have more control than this. He shouldn't sound so desperate. It's infuriating that, no matter how hard he tries, she always somehow manages to be his undoing. His right hand moves on top of his thigh, tips of his fingers just shy of his cock.

Behind his eyes, he's turning them around and walking her back, hoisting her up on her desk. His mouth slips from hers, brushing over her jaw; he moves her hair back to tease her earlobe with his teeth. Just a light scrape, but it gets his point across. He still remembers exactly what turns her on.

Her dress is long and tight and inconvenient, but he's never been the one to back down from a challenge. He puts both his hands to good use, pushing it up her thighs, and he imagines her wriggling around, allowing him to get it up and over her hips, until she's sitting on the glass surface with nothing but her panties covering her. It allows him to finally fully step between her legs and press his cock against her and - "Fuck it," he mutters as he unzips his pants and pulls his dick out through the slit in his briefs. There's guilt and shame, but both are a dull far-removed emotion because what he's feeling front and center is arousal and need and he does - _need her_ \- still and despite, and he doesn't get it, why the hell it isn't going away.

He strokes his dick without much finesse. He's already crossing so many self-imposed lines here, dragging it out would feel like insult to injury. There's precum on the tip and he smears it down with his thumb, thinks about her wet panties, about sliding against them, rubbing her clit with his length.

"Is this what you wanted to know, Donna? If it'd feel the same as twelve years ago?" he whispers, and her eyes are dark and unwavering. "If you still wanted me?" His hand on the small of her back, he pulls her closer, until she's on the edge of the desk and his dick is hard and pressed between them. "If I want you?"

He doesn't think she'd just leave it at that. She'd ask, "Do you?" Just to be sure, because he's been evading it – evading them - for years. And maybe she wants to punish him for that, twist the knife, just a little.

(But it's his fantasy, and it's him stroking his cock thinking about Donna while his girlfriend sleeps across town, so maybe he's the one doing the punishing.)

And it's so fucking obvious, the answer to her question, but he's not saying it and he's not thinking it. Instead, he focuses on getting off and what usually gets him off the quickest is thinking about fucking her, so he does just that. Holding her panties to the side, he pushes his cock against her a few times before sinking inside. He doesn't tease, fills her in one sure stroke, and she grabs the back of his neck, her fingers digging into his flesh as he pumps harder. It's a blessing and a curse, that he remembers her so well, so completely. His dick seems to be enjoying his detailed knowledge of her body, how she moves into him, the way her skin smells, the way her pussy feels. But Harvey knows other things, like the sounds she makes when he runs his tongue against her pulse point, and the way she clings to him when she comes and how being her focal point makes him feel, and that's what's ultimately tipping him over the edge.

He's mumbling something unintelligible as he comes on his shirt. As he catches his breath, he realizes he was answering her question, over and over and over again.

He cleans up in the bathroom, takes a shower, changes into fresh underwear, brushes his teeth. He stares at himself in the mirror the entire time.

.

In the morning, he makes himself a coffee and moves on. He's human, and Donna's an attractive woman, of course he had a reaction to her kissing him. More than that, they have a connection, they have years of shared history - some of it romantic - and he cares about her more than he's cared about any –

Harvey closes his eyes and wills his brain to shut the hell up. As long as it doesn't happen again, there's nothing to worry about.

.

Two days later, they're standing in that same place and he's holding her in his arms and he thinks they can do this. She doesn't want him and he has Paula, and things don't need to be confusing.

Three days later, Paula isn't returning his calls and he's giving up fighting for his father's legacy, and it surprises him the things he's willing to let go.

A few days after that, he introduces Paula to his mom only to have it blow up spectacularly in his face. Paula has a picture of Donna in her head now - someone he slept with, someone he trusts, someone he can't do without; someone who kissed him and helped him with his mother and stood by him for years – and it's giving her all the wrong ideas because it's not like that. He wants to explain to her that she's Donna and he's Harvey, and that's just what they do, that's just who they are, who they've always been; but that's all there is. He's in a relationship and Donna didn't find whatever the hell she thought she'd find and this doesn't have to be an issue. With a few exceptions, they've been pretty good at not making it an issue for years. Paula disagrees and he gets her insecurities. He gets Harvey and Donna are a hard concept to grapple with. He's had years of practice, and even he gets it wrong sometimes. A lot of the times, lately.

He wants this to work, he really does. Paula has feelings for him and he feels the kind of fondness that he's sure is instrumental in a long-term relationship. And if he makes this work, then that could be something he could have, forever. Paula could be someone who would stay. Paula would be someone he wouldn't fear losing.

In the end, when it comes right down to it, he can't do it. Donna has earned her place at the firm and she has more than earned him standing beside her, and she doesn't deserve anything less than that. It's all true, but he thinks exactly none of that as he does the familiar walk to her door, as he asks her if she's coming back, as he cares about nothing else but her saying yes. He really wanted to be a good boyfriend. He really liked the idea of having someone, of getting it right, for once. He didn't even get through the first sentence of her resignation letter for it all to become irrelevant.

In the end, it's almost effortless, giving up everything with Paula for Harvey and Donna. It hits him like a ton of bricks yet he's not surprised at all, the things he's never letting go.

.

Mike tells him he's leaving and it's a hard pill to swallow. He feels sad and deflated, but not broken or abandoned, and he wonders if that's growth.

He turns to see Donna standing right there beside him, and she looks like a constant. He asks her to dance and he holds her close – not because Mike is leaving and things are changing and he needs to hold on to her. It's because he desperately embarrassingly wants to. That's growth, too, he thinks, but it's also something else. What he feels for this woman, what he's felt for her for so long, it's –

"It's not going to be the same without them," she interrupts his train of thought.

"No," Harvey shakes his head. "It won't."

He feels her words next to his cheek when she says, "Are you okay?"

It's nothing more than a simple question, but it takes him back to her door, to the night of her resignation. The night he traded everything for Donna, and he misses a step as he realizes it was never a choice, never a decision. Any of it. Donna, she's like a reflex, an inevitability.

She nudges him with her hip and he resumes their dance. Remembers to answer her, "I'm okay." Remembers she's losing a best friend, too, "Are you?"

"They're happy," she answers, and it's so simple and so Donna. "So I'm okay. Heartbroken," she chuckles, "but okay."

What he feels for her is swelling inside his chest then, not entirely unlike a panic attack. Pulling her closer still, his fingers spread on her lower back. He brushes his hand up, the tip of his thumb feeling the soft skin exposed there. He feels her chin on his shoulder, feels her breath above his collar. Tipping his head, he smells her hair, his left thumb moving gently over her hand.

Harvey closes his eyes as Donna nestles her face in the crook of his neck and he finally – _finally_ – gives it a name.

It's terrifying and relieving, and he knows he'll need to figure out what the hell he's going to do with that. He feels ill-prepared and uncertain and he has zero idea where the hell she stands, and he's pretty sure one misstep could make everything go catastrophically wrong. He chews his lip and fights the urge and doesn't offer to take her home or invite her to his place for a nightcap. He does, however, hold her much closer than necessary, the pads of his fingers pressing into the skin of her back just hard enough to make her wonder. And when she lifts her head to search his eyes, he shakes his head and smiles, turning his face so that his nose is touching her ear, and the hand on his shoulder travels to rest on the nape of his neck.

They dance like that for awhile, and for tonight it's enough.


	8. to one thing constant forever

VIII. _to one thing constant forever_

_._

Things get busy at Zane Specter Litt as they all get used to their new roles and each other, and Harvey doesn't mind. Him and Donna seem to be existing in a sort of a limbo – they flirt and insinuate and she takes his food and bosses him around, which is new and kinda exciting – but they never let it get out of hand. They're both preoccupied with the firm, and that feels comfortable.

Harvey goes home late most nights, always alone now. Quick sex or, god forbid, dating doesn't even cross his mind. In this limbo he's stuck in, it would feel like he's cheating on Donna which in equal measure makes no sense at all and all the sense in the world. He feels like he's committed to her, she just doesn't know it. Feels like their flirting is amounting to something, and he just needs to wait it out. He passes the time thinking about her. A lot. They have sex pretty much everywhere he can think of – his desk, her desk; his place and hers; up against his wall and in the elevator and against her front door and in the back of his limo – and she's on top and he's fucking her from behind and she comes against his mouth and they do it every which way, and it's always different, but one thing's the same. Every single time it's making love.

He's pretty sure he should make a move. He glosses over the thought.

.

When Marcus calls and he goes to Boston, things change. Not things. Him. It's uncanny how his family drives it home for him every single goddamn time. It's infuriating because he's pretty sure he should be over his abandonment issues by now, well into his forties. It's discouraging that he's not.

There's only one person he wants to talk to about this, and he calls her and she makes it better. Donna makes it better every single time. That's uncanny, too. It makes him want to go to her. It makes him want to keep his mouth shut.

He lays down on the big unfamiliar bed and misses her. He's been missing her a lot lately, feeling her absence in his personal life so completely, he's constantly feeling on the verge of saying something he won't be able to take back. Something like I love you and You could ruin me. Instead he says something irrelevant and vague about pigtails and the other time.

He said it's strawberries and whipped cream, and he wonders if she knows it's just code for her. He wonders if she wrote it off as a joke, as him being flippant; wonders if she realizes just how true it is. Just how completely she has him.

Getting comfortable on the bed, he closes his eyes and pictures her there beside him. Harvey takes a deep breath and swears he can smell her. His fingers twitchy on the comforter, he touches hers in his mind's eye, just a light brush, just her being there. He wishes she was. He wishes her walking up to the bed wearing his t-shirt too big for her frame – and isn't that a cliché; he doesn't care – and sliding in next to him, burying her nose in his neck and her hand in his shirt and the longing hits him like a tidal wave. That's what he wants. That's all he wants.

He sits up and reaches for his phone to call her again. To call a cab and get on the next flight home. To make a goddamn move.

The phone rings in his hand and it's Marcus. He wants to ignore it. Watching it ring, Harvey thinks about his brother. He thinks of his dad, too, of his parents, of his sister in law and Esther and dozens of other unhappy people who couldn't make it work.

He answers the phone.

.

Nothing changes so Harvey supposes he should stay just the same, as well. He does take Louis out for drinks, which is new, but he's a dick to Donna, which is supposed to be ancient history.

He says sorry, kinda. She smiles it off and doesn't mention it again, but he doesn't think she forgives him, either.

They're still Donna and Harvey, but they're not, and the notion sits uneasy in his gut, leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

The irony isn't lost on him, that it's usually Donna hand-holding his way through these kind of turmoils.

.

Donna's standing at her desk when he walks into her office. "So, with your vote, I'm thinking Alex has it in the bag."

"Excuse me?" she looks up from the papers she'd been sorting.

"What is it?"

"You assuming I'm voting for Alex, for one. I don't know who I'm supporting yet."

He can hardly believe what he's hearing. "Are you serious? I thought we agreed –"

"We didn't agree on anything, Harvey," she closes a folder. "You never asked."

That's true. But still. "I didn't think I needed to."

"No, you think because I'm Donna and you're Harvey, I'd just automatically vote your way."

"Donna," he walks over to stand in front of her desk, feeling like she'd just pulled the rug from under him. "Alex is my guy. I brought him here with the promise of named partnership."

"I understand that." He waits for her to continue, but it seems that that's all he's getting.

"So you're voting for Samantha. You're voting against me?"

"No, Harvey. I told you, I don't know which way I'm going to vote. But whoever it is, it's going to be _my_ decision." She's standing up straight and there's only her desk between them, but it might as well be a sinkhole. Her face softens, but not her voice, "That's not voting against you, Harvey. I'm not your secretary anymore."

That makes him pause, his head pulling back in surprise. He refuses to think in hurt. "I know that. Don't you think I know that?"

"Do you?"

"Yes."

She nods curtly, "Because you put me here."

"Because I miss you every single day!" And he didn't mean to say it so loudly in her glass office in the middle of an afternoon, but fuck if it isn't the goddamn truth.

She wasn't expecting it, either, but she regains her wits quicker than him. She always does.

"I'm right here, Harvey. I've always been right here." He catches something in her expression, a vulnerability, but she hides it as fast as it came on. She's gotten good at that. "But I'm not compromising professional integrity to ease your fears. The firm is my priority now."

And that does hurt. "I guess I didn't think loyalty was a compromise."

"That's easy to say when you don't have everything to prove."

He wants to tell her she doesn't have to prove anything to anybody – she's Donna and she's been managing him for over a decade and he'd trust her with managing this whole damn firm – but he knows better. He sticks his hands in his pockets and nods, in agreement, in resignation. "Well. I know you'll do what's best for the firm." He wants to say more, make the final plea to convince her that Alex is the right man for the job, but a quick glance tells him it wouldn't be well received. Besides. He trusts her judgment. He doesn't always like it. But he does trust it.

He thinks she recognizes his restraint, because she gives him a small smile. "Thank you, Harvey."

Walking himself out, he stops at the door and turns around. She's sitting down in her chair, behind her desk, in her office that she fucking earned. She looks every bit the competent professional she's always been. She's exactly where she's supposed to be.

His voice is hoarse when he says, "I know I don't have the right, but I do miss you, Donna."

He leaves before she has the chance to reply.

.

He leaves the office earlier than usual that day. There are a million things going on right now that need his attention, but he's finding he doesn't really have the fight in him today. It's possible he's finally lost the taste for it all. He's in this out of loyalty to Alex, but if Harvey's honest with himself, he respects Samantha and wouldn't mind seeing her name on the wall, either. He wonders if it's age, or if Donna's influence is finally paying dividend. Ironic it should happen now, now that it feels like they're growing apart.

Pouring himself a drink, he looks out the window and thinks about what she said earlier. Considers if he still thinks of her as his secretary. He mulls that thought over in his mind, really gives it due consideration, and decides that, no. No, he doesn't. In fact, he hasn't in years, long before she made COO. Somewhere between the DA's office and the shredded memo, she became… Donna. And that's a loaded term if ever there was one. So, no, he doesn't think of her as his secretary. Problem is, he does think of her as his.

He's pretty sure she'd be outraged at that, but it's not like that. He just doesn't know how to be Harvey without Donna. And she said she's there, she's always been there, but lately it's felt a lot like he's on his own. Like he's lost any claim on her he might have had. He remembers feeling that way back when she decided she wanted more, wanted to move on professionally, that feeling of dread and insecurity. But then he sought out Paula and that muted it for awhile and –

He sets the glass down. His heart is hammering in his throat. He pulls at his collar, leaning against the glass. He's a goddamn idiot.

He thinks back on the kiss, on the choices he made, on the quiet revelation he had as he held her in his arms at Mike and Rachel's wedding. And what a coward he's been since. He thinks further back still, years and years of wanting her, and he might not have any claim on her but she sure as hell's had a claim on him for forever. He wants to be her priority again and he wants it to have exactly nothing to do with her job.

Looking out at the busy city beneath him, he's acutely aware of the emptiness behind him. His apartment no longer much of a bachelor pad and instead more of an isolation room. Paula was a weak half-assed attempt to fill it with anything personal or meaningful and yet when he turns around to look at it, the only things he finds that matter to him are his record collection hiding a picture of him and Donna, and that goddamn cactus she gave him that refuses to die, even when he neglects it.

Fishing the phone from his pocket, he dials Ray. He's been a goddamn idiot for long enough.

.

Donna opens the door on the third knock and he thinks she looks tired. He certainly feels it.

"Harvey, if this is about the vote," she starts, but there's no real fight to her words.

"I'm not here about the damn vote, Donna."

"Okay?"

"Can I come in?" he asks without preamble.

"Um," she raises her eyebrows, "Sure, Harvey." Stepping aside, she lets him pass.

He walks into the living room, and oh. "This is," he looks around, "different."

"Yeah, well. I needed a change," she gives him a small smile, but it's tight. Things are definitely not back to normal between them. He finds strange comfort in that. It certainly makes it easier to shake up the status quo. "Can I offer you a drink?"

He looks up, "No. No, I'm fine."

"Would you like to sit down?"

She's pleasant and cordial and it's fucking unnerving. "Can you stop?"

"Stop what?"

"Being… polite."

"What is this about, Harvey?" She exhales in a huff. "Why are you here?"

Now that she's pointedly asking, he finds himself beginning to panic. He stands there dumbfounded and suddenly he's not so sure this is a good idea after all. Harvey doesn't intimidate easily and no one's ever been able to intimidate him like Donna. But then, no one's ever meant as much. He figures that's probably a good reason to stand his ground. "Things have been," he searches for the right term and grimaces when all that comes out is, "weird between us."

"If you're talking about today, that was a professional disagreement. Things are fine, really," she dismisses, but it's empty platitudes and she's not even trying. She starts for the kitchen, stepping around him on her way, "Why don't I get us a drink and -"

She's cut off when he grabs her wrist to stop her. They don't touch, not really, not like this. Not when they're alone and things are dangerous. "This is not about that," his voice is quiet but steady. They both stare at his fingers on her skin. "We're not back to normal."

She gives him a hooded look, "Harvey."

"I don't want us back to normal."

Before she has the time to retreat, he gives her arm a tug and kisses her. She can't believe he's actually done it because her lips are motionless against his for a moment. But it's only for a moment and then he feels her kiss him back, chaste and soft but undeniably there. He slides his hand down her wrist and threads their fingers together, his other hand slipping around her waist and he can feel her breath hitch when he drags his lips against hers, kisses her again.

She breaks apart but stays right there, looking at him with that same resigned knowledge of months ago, and he's sure he's right when he says, "You lied." He can see her starting to panic, but the hell he's stopping now, now that he knows. "When you said you didn't feel anything. That was a lie."

Donna takes a step back and he lets her. "Harvey."

"Why?"

"Why?" She sounds incredulous.

"Yeah. Why did you lie?"

"Because," she runs her hand through her hair. "Because, you were in a relationship. And you shut me down and you were so angry and I panicked, okay. I panicked because I lost you as a," she bites the inside of her cheek, sighs, "and I didn't want to lose you as a friend, too."

He nods. "I'm sorry." He is. Has been since that morning after she kissed him and he needs her to know that. "I was angry with you, but I was really angry with myself." He thinks back on that night. On how much he wanted her. "With how you made me feel."

"Like you cheated."

He shakes his head, "Like I was making a huge mistake." His jaw clenches, "Like I'd been making the same mistake for years."

Her eyes are wide as she asks quietly, "Harvey, what's going on?"

"I'm tired of this, Donna. Of everything ending and everyone leaving." His voice is soft as he finishes, "Everyone except you."

Donna nods and he thinks she gets it, but it's clear to him she's drawn all the wrong conclusions when she says, "Gee, Harvey. That just makes me feel so special."

"Donna, what -" he starts, but she waves her hand to stop him.

"That's great, that you're finally looking to commit, or whatever? But I've been doing some thinking myself, and what I've come to realize is that I want to be someone's first choice for once, not your last resort." He looks at her, his mouth hanging open, as she goes for the door. "So, if we can just –"

Regaining his senses, he spins around, "Are you serious?" He can tell by her face as she turns to him that she is and it devastates him. That she really, honestly doesn't know.

"Look, Harvey, I get it." He's pretty sure she most certainly does not, but she continues before he can interrupt, "I've been in your life for a long time, I know you, it's safe. I'm safe. But that's not –"

"It's actually pretty damn impressive how wrong you are," he snorts humorlessly. This woman will be the death of him. "You think you're safe? No. Paula, she was safe." That gets her attention. He doesn't avert his eyes, as badly as he wants to; he owes her as much. "She understood my issues and she understood who I wanted to be, but – and this really clinched it - I wasn't in love with her. _She_ was safe. You, on the other hand," and now he takes a step forward because he's making himself clear if it's the only thing he does here tonight. "You're the most uncalculated risk I've ever taken. Let's be real, I'm not great at this, and you know that better than anyone. If I screw this up and lose you," he trails off, swallowing. In his mind, he's watching her walk away from his office and away from him and over to Louis, and he wonders if she's thinking about that, too. He doesn't bring it up, doesn't want to dwell on what a mess he was as a result; he's terrified enough as it is. He spreads his arms, lets them fall to his sides, "And yet, here I am. So would you just," he cocks his head, " _see_ that?"

They stand there in silence, just looking at each other. Her face is motionless and he is once again clueless about what she's thinking. But at least now she knows.

When it doesn't look like they'll get anywhere tonight, he sighs, "Okay, well then, I guess –"

"I won't let you," the words are quiet and final. They get his attention. "Screw this up," she elaborates and her smile is barely there but it lights up her face. It lights up the room. "What? I've been saving your ass for years, you think this is where I drop the ball?"

The corner of his mouth tugs, amused. Relieved. "You know," he muses as he takes a step forward, regarding her. "When it comes to relationships, your track record isn't all that stellar, either."

She chews her lip, looks like she's weighing something in her mind, and he sees the moment she reaches a decision. It looks a lot like surrender. "That's because my heart wasn't in it."

They're getting to it now, finally. He takes another step towards her. "Where was it?"

She blinks once, slowly. "You know where, Harvey."

Another step and this one brings him right in front of her, close enough to touch. He does, reaching for her waist he gives it a gentle tug, his eyes never leaving hers. "Good," he tucks a hair behind her ear and smiles.

"Good."

The word is barely out before he's pressing his lips against hers and backing her up against her front door. There's a desperate edge to the kiss, their lips parting immediately, and the taste of her is something different now than it was twelve and a half years ago. She's not wearing the same lip gloss, for starters, but she's also not the same girl she was back then. Back then, she was His Girl Friday and his moral compass and someone he was a little bit in love with. Now, though. Now she was his partner and his friend and his core and a woman he never could manage to stop loving. He'll never tell her any of that, not in as many words, so he does his best to show her. Her head falls back against the door as he kisses her with open mouth and tongue and teeth; her breath hitches as he leans into her, his fingers on her neck, on her hip.

"We should," she moans when his teeth graze her earlobe and he grins. "We should probably take this to the bedroom. Or the couch. Somewhere more comfortable."

"I don't know," he murmurs in her ear, "I like it here." He sucks behind her earlobe and feels her knees buckle, just a little. Just enough. "I've had some pretty wild fantasies about this door over the years."

A short laugh escapes her, "First it's the other time, now this. Seems like you fantasize about me a fair bit."

He smiles into her neck, "Seems like."

"Aren't we a little too Fortune 500 to be making out against the door?"

He pulls back to frown at her, "Has leading a top New York law firm tamed you, Donna?"

"Top?" she challenges and he looks at her smugly. She gives his arm a slap. "No", she draws out, rolling her eyes, "But my thirties have."

Her smile is reaching her eyes and she looks happier than he's seen her in longer than he cares to consider, and he can't fucking believe all the time – a decade - they've wasted on bullshit, when it could have been this. It's a sobering moment and it must show because she's cupping his cheek and looking at him in that way that tells him she gets it. "We've both been pretty dumb," she shrugs and she's right there with him, shouldering it, like she always does. Her fingers ghost up to caress his brow. "I don't want to dwell, Harvey. I just want," her eyes dance over his face, "This," she sighs finally.

He tilts his head and he's never loved her more than in that moment. Moving her hand from his face and taking it in his, he pulls her to him and over to where he remembers her bedroom to be.

"What about the door fantasy," she quips.

He shoots her a smirk, "Oh, I've had you on pretty much every surface in this apartment." They pass the sofa and he gives it a little pat. It makes her laugh. "And mine. And the office."

"Sounds like we've been busy."

He steps behind her and holds her waist as he walks them into her bedroom, his chin on her shoulder, murmuring into her hair, "Surprisingly so." Once inside, he turns her around and is stunned by just how beautiful she is. His hands knead her sides, run up her ribs and down again, squeeze. He can't believe he can do that now. "I meant it when I said you do it for me."

"Technically, you said strawberries and whipped cream."

"I didn't want to be too forward."

"No, god forbid," she laughs, her eyes wide with implication.

He knows he's been giving her crumbs for years and yet she's always somehow known him anyway. He guesses he'll probably always be a little closed off, a little difficult to live with, and equally he knows she'll see through his bullshit without any help from him. Here, in her bedroom – and he notices she didn't re-decorate this space; makes a note to ask her about that later – where he first started falling in love with her, he decides to try. Chewing the inside of his bottom lip, he tells her, "It wasn't just sex, you know." She looks surprised at that. She really has no idea. He feels uncomfortable, but her room is dark and he soldiers on. "It's always been about you. You're the fantasy."

Her palms run up his chest, his jaw, looping at the back of his neck. Barefoot she's smaller and she pushes off the floor just a little, her mouth warm on his. It reminds him of the last time she kissed him. Except now, he doesn't have to fight the impulse to reciprocate and he does so readily, his arms circling her waist, his palms flat and firm as they make their way up her back, pressing her to him. Her mouth opens and he feels her tongue against his, his hands finding their way into her hair, and as she walks them backwards to the bed, he can't help but think he could definitely get used to being more forthcoming.

They break apart and the only light in the room is the one from the hallway, but it's enough for him to see she looks as affected as he feels. Donna is an actress and a control freak, never quite letting go, always a little obscure herself. But her cheeks are flushed and she's trying to catch her breath and her eyes are full of him; his heart is full of her. She knows him better than anyone; he knows her pretty damn well right back.

Without breaking eye contact, he kisses along the inside of her wrist. "What about you?" She watches his lips open and trail across it, and it's a faint touch but he can see she's struggling to keep her eyes focused. "Did you think about me?" he breathes against her skin as his mouth moves up to kiss along her palm.

The question seems to break her out of her daze, and her eyes are on his, wide and earnest, and she's not cracking a joke, not breaking the moment as she whispers, "Sometimes. Yes."

The words fill the space between them and Harvey feels them everywhere. He kisses the pads of her fingers, one by one, innocent and completely in contrast with what he actually wants to do right now. But he's waited this long and he wants to hear. "Awhile?" She gives a reluctant nod. "Pearson Specter?" She's looking away. "Pearson _Hardman_?" She sighs. " _The DA's office_?"

"Kinda," she replies; his mouth stills on a digit. "That night we met?" He waits for her to continue, but she only raises an eyebrow, smirking. That _is_ the answer.

His eyebrows raise in smug surprise, " _Really_?"

She's shaking her head, groaning "Forget I said anything."

"Yeah, I don't think so," he gives her palm a wet smiling kiss. This is incredible. "I knew you were into me."

"I was hardly _into_ you," she rolls her eyes, pulling her hand away to work on his shirt buttons. "And you were the one who propositioned me ten minutes after we met."

"Twelve."

Her fingers pause halfway down his shirt, "What is it with you and timekeeping?"

"I just have immaculate attention to detail." She's pushing his shirt off his shoulders and he's tugging her top out of her pants. He leans in to whisper in her ear, "A trait you will come to appreciate. A lot."

The sound she makes is somewhere between a chuckle and a moan. It's a great sound.

Running his hands up her sides, he pushes the thin material up and over her head. His mouth falls to her bare shoulder, kissing her skin, running his tongue over her freckles and down her chest. A grunt escapes him as he kisses just above her bra, but he doesn't linger, not now, instead sinks to his knees to pull down her pants. She holds his shoulder to step out of them and then he's left on his knees and Donna in nothing but her underwear.

Putting his hands on her hips, he hooks a forefinger on each side of her black panties, plays with the lace. "Wow."

"Better than your fantasies?" she teases.

He looks up at her, her hair falling around her face as she smiles at him - happy, and his, and real - and he's breathless. "Every single one."

Running his hands up her waist and then everywhere – he can't keep still, feels the need to constantly touch – he stands up and kisses her. It's hard to do because she's smiling which makes him smile, and this is hopeless. They're hopeless.

Letting out a little chuckle, she sits down on the bed and starts to work on his pants, button then the zip and shit, he's almost embarrassed at how hard he is already. She looks up at him, chewing on her lower lip, and his cock twitches next to her hand. Her tongue darts out and his cock twitches again.

"Someone seems eager," she notes.

"It's been a long time coming," he observes and he doesn't mean it as a pun, but she laughs anyway.

"That it has," she pulls his pants down, then his underwear, his cock hard in front of her. "That it has."

She wets her lips and he watches mesmerized as she engulfs the tip of his cock, giving it a gentle suck. Closing his eyes, Harvey releases a groan. Fuck. Fuck.

"Fuck. Donna," he stills her head with a gentle hand. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

She gives him another suck then pulls back, "Wow. Really? That's impressive."

"Thank you."

"I meant me."

"Of course you did," he steps out of his clothes and, hooking his arms under her knees, pushes her up on the bed. He's naked and she still has her bra and her panties on and that won't do. "You're overdressed."

"Then take it off."

He groans at her words, at the challenging look she's giving him. His fingers skim the strap of her bra, inching it off her shoulder, his mouth following the path. He does the same with her right shoulder, his cock hard against the lace between her legs, and he feels her hips buck up to meet him as he thumbs down the cups, grazing her nipples deliberately. Reaching behind her, he unclasps it, pulls it off.

Catching her eye, he lowers his lips to her left nipple, already hard, dragging the lower lip up and down and around it and she stifles a moan. He takes that as a challenge, flicking his tongue out, using his teeth, as his left palm rubs circles on her other nipple. He's rewarded with a deep guttural sound from Donna, and he can't help it, he rubs his cock up her thigh and over her pussy and her nails dig into his biceps. He thrusts again.

Reaching between them, he rubs his fingers over her clit, massaging it through the material. Dipping down, his fingers skim across her entrance and she's so wet, fuck. He looks up to see her watching him. "Okay?" he asks.

She nods, smiles. "Yeah."

"What do you want, Donna?"

"You, inside me." She moves her hand down his forearm, takes his hand away and places it on her hip, "Take them off."

"You know, you'd make an excellent managing partner," he accentuates his words with a press of his fingers on her clit. "So decisive."

She snorts, "I already am, you guys just need to catch up." She swirls her hips into his hand. "Now do as you're told."

He grins so broadly, his face feels like it's splitting, "Fuck, that's so hot."

Kneeling above her legs, he does what she asks, slowly, deliberately, and he can tell she's impatient but this has been a dream for too damn long to hurry. A moment, and she's naked underneath him, and her skin is pale and flushed, and she's looking up at him with open vulnerability that's been off limits since the kiss. Since her promotion. Hell, if he's honest, since the time he told her he loved her and never followed through. The moment feels a lot like a second chance.

He tugs her to him as he sits back on the bed. She straddles him, his cock between their bellies, but he's not worrying about that now. He brushes her hair back, watching his thumb caressing her cheek, tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"You don't have to say it."

He looks up at her solemn face. "What if I want to?"

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, her thumb under his ear, "Then I'll be happy to hear it."

Leaning into the touch, he mutters, "I made such a mess of it last time."

"Yeah," she smiles. "You kinda did."

But she's dismissing it, doesn't want to dwell he remembers, and she goes to move, but he stays her hip. "I meant it." He pauses until she's looking at him. "When I said," he inclines his head and, shit, he's botching this. "Then. And now."

Her face is still, only her eyes darting between his, and he realizes she's not taking a moment because she's doubting him. She just probably never thought she'd hear it from him again. Which, after tonight and in their current position seems incredible, but then, there's a lot of history there they have to work with and work against.

Pulling his head closer, she kisses him and then she's lifting her hips, rubbing against his erection in the process, and he loses his train of thought and then he loses his mind as she brings herself over his cock and, taking him in hand, lowers herself on him. She sinks down and he's completely buried inside her.

"Don't you want to know how?"

She looks down between them. "I think that's fairly obvious, don't you?"

He huffs and shakes his head and she's definitely not going to let him screw this up and, "God I love you."

Her hands on his face, she isn't hiding her smile; she can trust this. She starts to move. His arms encircle her and hers are around his neck, her hands combing through the hair at the back of his head as they breathe against each other's lips and she moves on top of him. Her legs are wrapped around his middle and there isn't a part of him that isn't touching any part of her. He thought about this moment a lot but nothing he conjured up could even come close to them rocking together, slow and gentle at first, getting used to each other again. His hands roaming her back and hers drifting down to his shoulders as she sets a faster pace. Harvey presses his lips to her throat, tastes her skin, feels her pulse, his hand snaking between them and to her clit and, "Oh. Harvey, I'm-"

She fastens the pace, her clit rubbing against his fingers as she moves, and he can feel her orgasm building, feels her tightening around him, feels his own orgasm approaching as he rubs her clit and she digs her nails into the skin of his back. A beat, two and she's coming around his cock and holding onto him, and he snakes an arm around her waist to ground her.

"Can I?" he asks and she nods and shit. He thrusts into her once, twice, his mouth finding hers, closing around her top lip, and he's coming inside her, and he finally knows.

This is what making love feels like.

.

The other time, they didn't really sleep and he left before breakfast. This time is nothing like that time.

He's laying on his back while she goes to the bathroom, dozing off to the sounds of her. He feels the bed dip next to him and he reaches a hand out, his fingers finding her hand, pulling her in.

"Harvey Specter, a cuddler," she teases, propping herself up on her elbow, smiling down at him.

"Donna Paulsen, a pain in the ass." He closes his eyes again, feeling her settle against his side.

"Right. I don't know how you've put up with me all these years." He can hear her rolling her eyes.

"Beats me," he holds her hand between them. "Must be all the love."

.

Harvey wakes up in Donna's bed, decidedly alone and decidedly not dreaming. He has morning wood, but he also needs to pee, and that's not usually dream material. Sitting up, he hears the rustling in the kitchen, a clatter of a cup and Donna swearing under her breath.

Definitely not a dream.

He grins when he hears her coming.

Donna enters the bedroom with two cups of coffee and his shirt that has what looks like a ketchup stain down it. That or she's stabbed someone in the kitchen. His grin widens. This is definitely real.

"Is there a dead body out there?" He motions at his (her) shirt. "Do you need a lawyer? Cause I know a good one. Great in bed."

"Yeah, I already called Samantha," she smirks, bringing him the coffee and sitting down on the bed. "She can't wait to prove herself on her first case since being named partner."

"Ha ha," he smiles behind the cup. "You should be a comedian."

"Pass. I much prefer exerting my power over you."

He takes a sip of the coffee. It has vanilla and possibly some ketchup, too; it's perfect. "I've noticed that. You know," he muses, his free hand tugging at his (her) shirt, "we can always just go back to how we were."

"You mean, back to you pining for me."

"I think you'll find it was you who was pining for me."

She rubs her lips together, palming the side of his face. She looks happy. "Nothing changes, huh."

Scanning her face, he realizes she's right. As usual. "No," he tucks her hair behind her ear. "Nothing much changes at all."

Her fingers brush along his jaw, "I've loved you for such a long time, Harvey."

She takes his breath away. She's the only one who ever has. "Good. That means you're unlikely to stop."

"I'd say the chances of that are pretty slim at this point."

"So what you're saying is that I'm stuck with you."

Her eyebrows shoot up at that. "What I'm saying," she draws out. "Is that you are one lucky bastard."

He bites his bottom lip, grinning, "Can't argue with that."

"Living the dream."

He threads his fingers into the hair at the back of her head, brings her in until their noses are touching. Mutters against her lips, "You don't know the half of it."

.

_fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. :)


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